Masquerade
by PlaidButterfly
Summary: A redeemed Vader strives to reconcile his past actions while trying to save Luke from the Emperor's grasp, and helping the Rebel Alliance... And struggles to simply survive. Post-RotJ AU.
1. Making a Note Here

Leia Organa knew the symbol - the ebony palm-print that was on the woman's pin. It was oddly unfamiliar and tiresomely familiar at the same time, and she was still unsure of what the organization exactly did, but they had declared themselves trustworthy enough to warrant a visit. Their guide seemed innocent enough, a schoolteacher who was not quite unwilling to expound upon why she was caught up in such a thing.

"...Although it's true much of Prince Xizor's fortune was donated to the Black Hand, to say that we are an extension of the Black Sun is untrue," she explained patiently in a way that was simultaneously completely unhelpful and helpful at the same time. "We have worked towards a singular goal since our creation, one in perfect accordance with the Rebel Alliance's. Whatever friction is unfortunate but expected..."

Leia said nothing, but she glanced over as one of the bodyguards leaned over to whisper to another. "What she means is, this Black Whatever is the thing that's been stealing all the money out from under us." His grumbling was cut off as she glared at him, but she couldn't help the small sigh escaping from her nose.

It had been a hellish few months, and really, the Rebel Alliance's regular benefactors pulling their money out to divert it to the Black Hand was very nearly the last straw. What was supposed to be a glorious victory and Endor turned into a nightmare. Luke had been agitated the night before, mumbling something about not being able to find someone, distracted in a way that unnerved her; truthfully Leia had pushed his last words out of her mind, as there were too many other things to panic about than her parentage. The battle was still a technical victory, as they had destroyed the half-built Death Star, even if the Emperor was able to get away safely on the Executor as they scrambled to salvage the situation. That was recoverable. Luke being dragged out in front of the next Imperial rally was not.

She had to tell himself that the smile on Luke's face was forced, and the rumors about him being coerced into such a situation were true. But it was such bad news that the odd lack of a usual player on the cosmic stage was hardly realized, even though it had been months, up until this point.

Leia shook her head a little, her intricate braids hitting the back of her neck as she looked back to the Togruta leading them on. The tall woman was still talking, as if the entire group were listening devotedly, and it made Leia sympathize a little with the children in her classroom. "It was a very complex arrangement, but fortunately a few weapons dealers groups were sympathetic - the ones that design for you - so as you can see, here is the ion cannon I was telling you about..." Leia rolled her eyes slightly as they stepped into a large hangar bay. It was one that was familiar, one she knew; outside the trees of Yavin were still thick and seedlings had started to sprout on where they had cleared. The dust was new, though, as was the massive tractor beam mount and the ion cannon that seemed terribly out of place - the scorch marks on the wall from the cannon blast, however, seemed to make sense... and she couldn't quite make it out - there was an outline...

"As you can see, we are sorry for the inconvenience that came with clogging the channels with rumors of Skywalker coming back here, but it worked well enough. The tractor beam is industrial grade, and was used to drag his fighter in here after it was disabled by the ion cannon blast, then another made capturing him possible. The ion cannon is salvaged from the one installed on Hoth. I am sure the Rebel Alliance does not mind the Black Hand borrowing it, as it were, and we will be happy to return it." the schoolteacher said, continuing to talk. Leia listened quietly, eyebrows furrowing.

Clearing her throat a little, she looked back over to the tall, serene-looking Togruta woman. "Excuse me. Miss... what was your name, again?"

She smiled gently. "Tano. Miss Tano."

"Right, right." The outline looked too familiar, she couldn't stop staring at it, and there was something deeply unnerving about it, but the Togruta's serene smile pushed whatever agitation out of her mind somewhat. "You still haven't told us exactly _who_ all of this effort was to capture."

"Oh, I thought it would be obvious," the Togruta said with a slow blink. "This operation was against Darth Vader."

For a moment Leia, and her personal guard of soldiers, stood perfectly still. "...Vader," she repeated hollowly, eyeing the outline on the wall in the scorch marks the ion cannon blast had made.

"Yes. The costs were phenomenal, and roughly fifty-three died in the battle, another three hundred or so injured," she said calmly before she grinned in a way that made the hairs on the back of Leia's neck stand up - an almost sadistic expression, triumphant in a way she had only seen a few times before. "The operation was, I believe they said, a _huge success._"

--

And the next few months were followed by the same sort of eerie calm. The Empire would not admit it, but it became knowledge nonetheless. It was a boost to morale that almost made up for the Rebel's favourite son, Skywalker, apparently turning to the arms of the Emperor, but Luke's stutteringly smiling face coupled with lack of words and lack of true action was a pale substitute for what had been before.

To say he was mourned would be inaccurate. It was more a collective sigh of relief, even within the Empire itself. Few planets outright celebrated, but none of them truly mourned.

And Vader's name was moved from list to list, from the missing that were expected home to the missing who were possibly still breathing to the missing that were merely euphemistic about death. It was a slow and subtle rot, but it nonetheless did a steady trickle of damage - without Vader, it was all too easy to see the Empire as a toothless old dog, tethered to Coruscant and howling at the Outer Rim..

--

"Oh, you're awake."

Light. Bright light, so bright it made his eyes water. He hadn't seen light like this in years - how many years? So bright - where was he, and who was that voice -

Some alien silhouette, he couldn't see which one - the light was too bright, burning into his eyelids - a choked splutter -

"Don't try to talk, I haven't connected your larynx up yet with the rest. Better than the best gag, right?" The voice was hoarse with age, and a small tinge of recognition twitched at the back of his mind - perhaps it was familiar, his head was swimming too badly. "And don't try anything else. That cage up there? Three ysalamiri. They make pretty good pets, actually. I think one's about to have pups or something, too." The alien's voice was oddly soothing, but not enough that he didn't try to wiggle out of the restraints.

Abruptly, his arm - or the piece of machinery he had identified as 'his arm' for the last several years - waved in his face as the alien wagged it at him like an old housewife. "What did I tell you about moving? Don't move! I don't want to give you more sedative yet. You're tricky to dose, you know?" He blinked slowly at this. "Don't give me that look. You've only died three times."

He blinked a little more slowly as that phrase just climbed the charts on his mental lists of _Things I Never Want To Hear, Ever_.

"First time it was just because of the ion cannon blast, second time was a tiny mistake with the dosing of the sedative because she didn't actually get I was joking with my little 'as much as a krayt dragon' comment, and then the third doesn't really count at all because it was just taking you off one life support system to another." A wrinkled hand gestured at all of the softly beeping bits of machinery around him, and as he gave up struggling against the bonds to fall limp against the table again, he felt distinctly nervous even with the haze from the drug clogging his mind.

The alien shook his mechanical arm in the air again, apparently content to talk to him even as she was cloaked in shadows. "See this? Terrible craftsmanship. Shoddy work! Just terrible! Probably a rush job, but technology has made such leaps and bounds." She set the black armored thing down to pick up what at first glance could easily be a real human arm, only instead of blood spilling out there was a tangle of wires. "We're going to have things done _right_ around here. Yes." As if she had forgotten about him momentarily, she ducked down out of his hazy range of vision, humming something incredibly off-tune.

"This. This is what you have to remember." She held a small vial of clear liquid aloft. "Taken you months to get it out of your system. I wonder if you remember the files for it?" He blinked slowly, straining, and she laughed. "No, no, of course not. Don't want you to know your own poison. But you don't have the Emperor in your head anymore, do you?" She bopped the vial against his forehead, and he blinked instinctively as his eyebrows knitted in frustrated worry. "Mind control serum. The jewel of the old Republic, pulled through just in time to try and control the Jedi menace... hah! Jedi menace. But then Order 66 took care of that, didn't it?" She shook the small vial around with a snort, her wrinkled paws only somewhat visible in the contrast of harsh light and deep shadow. "Took care of every Jedi but one." He winced a little as she bopped him on the head again before she started to laugh.

The meaning went past him then, but it trickled down into his thoughts as he occasionally bobbed towards consciousness before being dragged down again. Where had he spent the last years? Reason answered _the Empire_ or specifically _the Executor_ but his gut instinct yelled _in captivity_...

And he felt as if he should care, because he was aware of a battle that raged within him, Light against Dark. But all he could seem to do was sit back and watch with glassy eyes, like a spectator in the stands of a game that had gone on too long. If his subconscious could have ordered another box of oversalty fried food to stuff its proverbial face with, he was pretty sure that would have been the outcome, but the ball went back and forth between the two players in such mesmerizing spirals. He was too tired to act - to cheer for either team - he could just watch...

Thoughts drifted in and out among the black, but that was the only time he saw his captors - at least, for any extended period of time. There was, he remembered, another haze of over-bright light, and a broad smile. "Success," the old alien cackled to herself, and then the shadow dragged him back down again, and instead of struggling against it he submitted passively to the riptide.


	2. Staircase Wit

And then the shadows all slipped away like chalk drawings on a sidewalk, and the first thing that greeted him was the smell of the sewer he had been left lying in. He grimaced, blinking dizzily - not a smell he was used to, when he had been spoiled with clean filtered air... It was not as painfully light, and his head was filled with a rush of information, more alive - it took him a long slow moment to realize that it was the Force, speaking to him again, unmuffled by a ysalamiri over his head.

This realization did not halt the dizzying nausea as he tried to get up. At the movement, a small holovid player turned itself on. As the room spun, it chimed a cheerful company themesong at him before a professional-looking Twi'lek woman smiled at him, her image flickering. "Congratulations on your purchase of a Ziencorp prosthesis! After larger installations you may experience some side effects such as disorientation, dizziness, nausea -"

He didn't hear the rest, already gagging in dry heaves into the corner as his brain struggled to rectify the sensations from his new legs with reality. But the recording chattered on, and when he flopped back down with a defeated groan, he could hear it again. "...rash, and occasionally severe allergic reaction. If you should experience any of these symptoms for more than three days, please contact a health professional immediately." There was a little click as the holovid forwarded itself to another chapter, and the Twi'lek smiled brightly. "With your Ziencorp prosthesis, you'll get to experience greater mobility, freedom, and enjoyment of life -"

It was then that he managed to get control of himself long enough to do what any sane and rational person would do: pick up the holovid player and throw it away from him as hard as he could. The voice squeaked and skipped before the electronics finally died, and he let himself flop back down onto the bitterly cold steel plates of the floor. He felt like hell, that much he was sure of, and it took a long while of fighting that nausea before he stood.

It stank, and it was too loud and too light, and he ached all over. He was not used to seeing in so many colors or without an information overlay, and it was deeply disorienting, but he somehow managed to pull himself to his feet. Even though his eyes were watering, he managed to catch his own reflection, and was startled by it.

He was not expecting to see it - blue eyes peering back at him, the messy hair falling into his face, the facial hair that had grown over several months. As if he were a child finding a mirror, he reached out to brush his hands on the chrome, not understanding, thinking it was some sort of trick until he noticed that the flesh underneath was still worn and scarred and the thick rope of scar tissue still sat by his eye. It was impossible, it was a miracle, it was not the black mask he had been staring at for so long.

When he gave a surprised laugh he startled himself, the sound was so very foreign to him. There was the absence of sound, too, he noticed - no steady wheeze, and to his amazement, if he tried he could hold his breath and listen to the blood rushing in his ears and the drumbeat of his heart. He laughed again almost instinctively at the joys he had been deprived of that all others took for granted, at suddenly being freed from an iron prison, and in unthinking joy he turned to run for the sake and joy of running -

It was a few seconds after he found himself flat on the ground again that he considered perhaps patience was a virtue. So he stood up shakily, walking in a patient circle as his vision continued to clear and the details of the world around him stopped being so incredibly overwhelming. The pack left by him became clear, and with a newfound sense of balance he rummaged through it. A second holovid player was obvious, a small disc that he pulled out and held in a hand.

A click - the track was only audio, but he recognized the voice, the wisened alien that he had never seen in the shadow. "If you're hearing this, you're probably awake. Either that, or you've been mugged and some street rat has got your stuff." She gave a braying laugh. "All you need is in here. A few credits, a few medical supplies, some military rations - a little bit of irony, you see - and of course, other important things." He blinked at her vagueness but didn't dwell on it as the recording rambled on. "There's a sample vial of the liquid that kept you under his thumb for so long. Use it wisely. And more importantly, advice. You can't afford to be proud down here; you don't want people to know who you are. You aren't important anymore." Again, that laugh. "You're worthless. You're scum. Welcome back to Coruscant."

And then the recording clicked off.

He waited for it to come. The persistent anger had always been with him - it had been such a driving force that without it, he seemed as pleasantly naked as without the armor, and just as disoriented. Finally, he staggered up, sighing and looking again at his reflection. Not only had they done a courtesy to him of regenerating his skin enough to grow hair, but apparently they had decided to let him figure out his own hairstyle. For the moment, he thought he looked wild enough to be forgetful.

For a few long, dizzy moments, he stared up into the perpetually clear sky of Coruscant, his thoughts muddled and disjointed. He followed the crowd as if herd mentality would save him.


	3. Along the Watchtower

The Coruscant WeatherNet had apparently decided, to make the weather a bit more interesting in early spring, to introduce a set of morning showers. He remembered the memo when, while he followed the crowds, they all pressed themselves against the awnings of the buildings, cowering from the light drizzle as if it would all melt them. He couldn't force himself to be as afraid of it as they were, even if he perhaps had more reason to be, and instead of pulling up the coat over his head he simply continued walking on the same path that he had been.

He was aware of how clouded his mind still was, a paradoxical sort of situation, but somehow freeing as well. It was hard to keep his thoughts directed towards anything loftier when animal needs kept dragging him back. The heavy, greasy scents of the street food make his mouth water; the light still seemed to be too bright, making him squint. It was too easy to be sluggish and sleepy, to not fight it any more than he had to. Being locked away from the little mundanities made them seem like some sort of delicacy to finally enjoy them, and so he let himself smile as he shivered at the rain running down from his hair. The water snuck underneath his collar, tracing along his spine – just like Padmé's fingers had done, to tease him, to tell him with a half-a-second gesture that he was being too serious.

And that was enough to clear some of the haze from his mind, even as his mind scrambled to drift back into the reality of the present. Waiting for the regulation eighteen minute rainshower to be over, he found a patch of wall, dry and hidden by a cantina's awning. It was distractingly novel to again feel the touch of his fingers – or a prosthesis accurate enough to fool himself into thinking of it as _his fingers_ – pressed against his face.

_Pull yourself together_, he chastized himself before pausing, obviously talking to himself but unsure of what name to use.

He grimaced. That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Anakin, or thinking of himself as Anakin, anyway, died on Mustafar. But Vader was as much the armor as it was him – or had he been the armor? It made his head ache. Either way, that fascinating glimpse of his own reflection sealed it: Vader did not have clear blue eyes, just a mask. And Skywalker – _Skywalker_ had become synonymous with Luke -

He drew in a sharp breath. It was a name that stung almost as much as Padmé's. Hiding his eyes from the light, he took in another deep breath, momentarily distracted by being able to control his own breathing, before letting his hand drop.

The rainshower was letting up; he stepped out with the crowd. Sun-dogs, scattered fragments of rainbow, shone and multiplied themselves in the reflective skyscrapers towering above them before finally disappearing. The haze still hung closely to his mind even as he tried to shake it off, and apathy guided his footsteps before he fully realized what he was doing. The crowd, at least, seemed to be going somewhere. Damp and shivering, he followed.

The courtyard broke open the oppressive space of the lower city so dramatically it made his eyes water. To say there was a crowd was an understatement; it was an oppressive crush of people. But the Imperial pennants had been unfurled from the holoscreen towering overhead, and the echoing anthem was blaring loudly from the speakers. It wasn't an unusual sight, he had long since gotten used to the idea that the Emperor subscribed to the bread-and-circuses method of governing. A Moff – which one, he couldn't remember – appeared on screen. The haze kept him from remembering the man's name, but he still grimaced: the Imperial officer was shrew-faced, eyes small and beady. A detail drifted up, unbidden: he knew the man mostly from a clandestine peek at his internal intelligence file, which was primarily centered around his continuing obsession with prepubescent girls. Just the thought brought a grimace to his face. Whatever this was about, it had to be important enough to justify giving such slime actual screen-time.

The screen's view panned away, showing a new memorial – perhaps in one of Coruscant's upper squares – obsidian gleaming black. It took him a moment of rubbing at his eyes to actually concentrate enough to focus on the echoing words.

"...and above all, we dedicate this memorial to a loyal soldier of the Empire: more than soldier, perhaps. One could even call him the spirit of the Empire, partially, beyond our beloved, illustrious Emperor himself, of course. It is with great sadness that we recognize his death..."

Pawing at his eyes again, he squinted at the display. It was an impressive statue, in a modern style, jagged and built of sharp edges. The outline seemed almost familiar.

"But spirits, of course, cannot really die. We recognize this... iconic soldier to still be protecting and guiding the Empire, and all her loyal citizens..."

With a snort, he recognized it: the statue was supposed to be _him_, the jagged angles accumulating into the helm he had associated with himself for so many years. It came a second before the actual announcement: "And so, with great sadness, we dedicate this memorial to Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith."

The crowd around him clapped politely. Nobody seemed enthused one way or the other, but merely seemed to be making noise out of contractual obligation. _He_, meanwhile, gaped in open disgust. Was _this_ really all that he was worth, a tacky memorial and a half-assed eulogy delivered by a pedophile? Not that he was absent of the same disgust everyone else seemed to hold for him; he admitted dizzily he was a wretched creature. But _this!_ He didn't expect sympathy, not by any means. But perhaps maybe a roster of the battles he had single-handedly won, a nod towards the effect he had on turning the universe to the Empire's favor – at least it deserved a little more than a perch for the hawkbats on some square. The indifference made him grit his teeth. He would have been happier with an open celebration, at least then he could ask them to pass the champagne and celebrate alongside them – but faces were neutral, even _bored_.

Unfortunately, as the camera panned away, he completely forgot about his own irritation.

The crowd actually began to cheer, a gradual but steadily rising sound as they actually seemed to care about what they were seeing. The Emperor was there, and slowly, he rose from his throne – a rare sight – to gesture outwards, greeting the people. It was a perfectly manufactured cult of personality. The lower-city crowds, straight from the slums, screamed as if it were an honor to catch the gaze of a holoprojection. His withered, bone-white hand gestured out, and another figure stepped into the camera's gaze; the crowd went wild again. The pleasant blue eyes were glazed-over, a deadness having stepped in to replace the innocent light; the collar of the shirt he wore was almost too tight, grazing just underneath his chin, making him hold his head stiffly upwards like a dog with a choke collar. Something had stolen the young man's youthful charm and replaced it with dark circles ringing his eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. The smile was more like a grimace, forced and weak. But the crowd still cheered.

The rising horror constricted his throat, and the mist fell away from his thoughts abruptly. Letting himself note the effects of the drug withdrawal was no longer a luxury he could afford. Immediately his mind was racing from possibility to possibility: how could the Emperor have constructed such a trap? It was impossible and simultaneously very probable – the boy was young, gullible, foolhardy in that blind hope -

The Emperor started to speak, and the crowd fell into silence. Unfortunately that was the exact moment that his mouth seemed to finally work itself out of frozen horror to scream out the only thing he could think of, so unbidden he almost didn't realize it was his own voice.

"_LUKE!_"


	4. Kismet

And suddenly there were dozens of eyes on him, staring him down.

_Oh, kriff._

Normal, loyal citizens of the Empire did not interrupt while their Emperor was speaking. Nor did they scream out the personal, first name of the Emperor's new right hand. And they certainly didn't do it in such an anguished tone.

As much as he winced at the wave of self-loathing that hit him, he also recognized the gesture of someone in the crowd – lifting his arm up to speak into the comlink hidden underneath his long sleeve. Their eyes locked, and he realized, even as he backed slowly away, stumbling into the crowd, that he had been spotted. There was going to be no such thing as an easy escape, now. Bone-white lines shoved their way through the crowd, converging on him, the stormtroopers already holding their blasters close at the ready.

For a tense moment they simply stared, the undercover officer waiting patiently. But he still leapt away, making the first move, and the officer's roar ripped through the crowd: "HALT!" A woman gave a shriek as he shoved her out of the way, and another more solid scream as the bolt from the officer's pistol hit the shoulder of another bystander. The stormtroopers moved from a calm walk to a jogging march, using the butts of their rifles to shove people out of the way, cutting a path through the crowd as swiftly as a torrent of rain gouges out riverways in soft mud.

_Fantastic, Anakin! Wonderful! Not even awake for two hours and already you have half the Empire after you_. He quirked his eyebrows at himself even as he ran, wondering if the half-instinctive mental chiding decided it. Or perhaps it was simply that _Anakin_ was the one to make atrociously stupid mistakes, not _Vader_. The irritation at not really solving anything in the problem of what to call himself made him almost miss the wonderful, sheer joy of being able to run again.

The stormtroopers burst through the crowd at last, and the occasional shot from the officer was suddenly joined by a torrent of blaster fire. Gritting his teeth, he leaped into a nearby alleyway; there was only so long that he could dodge each blast. It at least gave him enough time to sling off the backpack and dig around in it before, still disoriented and reeling, he remembered shoving his lightsaber into his pocket. It seemed far too clumsy and large, now. But it was there, solid in his hands, flickering on and painting the alley with a bloody light.

"You two, go in first. We'll follow. We want this man apprehended, do you understand? Preferably alive but it's not too much to trouble about -" The officer's voice, clear and commanding, echoed its way up, and he dropped into a ready fighting stance.

A sharp pain was still clawing at his temples and his mind was clouded in disarray – but his body remembered.

Up, across, down; sweeping away the blaster bolts. Every one struck back true, the stormtroopers gagging and gasping as they were hit with the bolts from their own guns. It was a suicidal gambit, pouring into the alleyway. They didn't expect to come face to face with a Jedi – a Sith? - a _lightsaber_ and a man wielding it.

The officer filed in last, but held his fire. Instead, eyes wide, he raised his arm to scream into his comlink. He never got the words out. The brilliant crimson blade arced out, tumbling through the air, to strike, before returning to its owner's hand.

The silence was palpable as he sunk back, eyes wide, listening to himself pant. Having to stop and catch his breath was novel, if a bit more inconvenient than he remembered. Except for the officer's body, it looked simply like the stormtroopers had been outgunned – but the self-cauterizing wounds would give him away, he knew, and there was little time... Fortunately, the alleyway ended in an obvious garbage chute, or rather, a chute surrounded by bagged piles of trash that people had been too lazy to actually dispose of properly. It took a moment for him to recognize his own voice – a gruff, low, but unadulterated tone – as almost reflexively, he stated to the officer's lifeless, slack face: "Sorry. I'm sure you'd understand." His head still swam as he lifted the man's body with the Force, nearly dropping it in surprise as he realized, with the same shock that coursed through him at hearing his own voice, that he was not accessing the Force through his usual rage. Pity, perhaps – regret? No, not that strong. The absence of rage, just like the absence of the mask, was disorienting and startling enough.

But it didn't distract him too much; it was still only a few seconds until he closed the chute door and slammed the button next to it. Rusted machinery rumbled deep within the wall, mechanically chewing and processing.

Then it was on to more pressing problems.

The red eye of the security camera was still bearing down on him, clicking and focusing on the movement. It was blind luck – or intuition, he supposed, but for now, luck would do. The alleyway was still part of the old system, video stored in a databox until manual collection instead of immediately going to holo-relay. By the time he managed to precariously stand on one of the collection bins to reach the camera, he could already hear security sirens in the distance; the way the metal peeled back, glowing, was not subtle in the least. But the tangle of wires was easy to reach, a gordian knot he untangled with his lightsaber, as he grabbed the data box and quickly tossed it into his bag.

"Officer Ieyei?" The sirens had stopped outside the alley's entrance, and now, gun raised, another two stormtroopers stalked forward. "Officer Ieyei, please resp-" The second jumped away, startled, as his foot ran into the helm of one of the fallen bodies. "Oh." It was a mechanical sort of sound, all dull and numb shock. "Oh – oh. I, ah - " The stormtrooper paused, letting his gun drop a bit while simultaneously clutching it closer, as if it were merely a talisman to ward off harm instead of a weapon.

The carnage was enough of a distraction for him to step away from where he had vaulted onto the rooftop, breathing a sigh of relief before running, then jogging, then halting to a walk as he met the dispersing crowd on another walkway. Head down, he shifted the pack on his shoulders to feel the weight of the databox pressing against his back. As the crowd pressed around him, he finally gritted his teeth, letting himself get lost in his own thoughts: _You were lucky, this time. Next time you can't count on such luck._

He did not realize that he had not been lucky enough to notice the Rebel Alliance-planted holo-relay in the tangle of wires.

_A/N: Sorry for a brief break in the story for a note from me. We'll return back to your originally scheduled fanfic as soon as possible._

_Mostly I would like to thank everyone for reading. Reviewing is optional, though I would very much appreciate it (and usually I try to return the favor). It still is an honor to see my story on people's watch lists. Thank you, sincerely, for reading. _:)

_Hopefully now that things have picked up a little in pace, as well, there won't be such a long wait between chapters. Additionally, I do have more fanfiction (and occasional fanart) at my livejournal for such things – silver-addict . Livejournal . Com , if you should be interested._


	5. Gate Within a Gate

Either someone was playing at being eccentric, or the WeatherNet relay was broken, because for the rest of the day, every three hours, there was another eighteen minute long rainshower. When the second one came, he had huddled under another awning after purchasing a lunch from a street cart – purposefully choosing the one that seemed to violate as many health and safety decrees from the Empire as possible. He wasn't quite sure if it was rebellion, or his idea of living dangerously. Either way, mystery meat wrapped in cheap pan-fried bread had never tasted so delicious.

Even as he let the crowds push him along, he was awake – sobered, perhaps – and thinking. As much as his stomach twisted itself into knots, he knew that there were priorities. He could not save Luke if he was dead of starvation somewhere in the lower city, and he certainly couldn't storm the Imperial palace now – it would simply be suicide.

Trying to figure out where to start was overwhelming.

He understood, now, why the voice in the message left to him delighted so much in the fact that he was now _scum_. The word made him recoil, mostly because he knew it was applicable. For most of his life he had been used to being special – a Jedi, then a Sith Lord. He had commanded those beneath him, but most of all, he had been confident that he would at least have something to eat and somewhere to rest. Even as a child, his mother had taken care of that. But the worry about such basic things was startling to him, anxiousness bitter in his mouth as he gritted his teeth and thought.

There was no possibility of trying to get any higher than the lower city slums. He needed to be invisible, wholly and completely, not friendly with whatever private security force the apartment block had paid for. It was dark and oppressive, the rank underbelly of the city fragrant and smothering. As he pulled his jacket closer to himself, he reflected how much he missed his cloak: at least that he could properly wrap around himself.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly walked by, but the Force, agent of Fate, has a strange way of making sure what should be noticed is, indeed, noticed. Sparks sizzled through the air and he jumped aside, though the arc of electricity ended as quickly as it came. A run-down, patched and tired looking house seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of the dismal row, but this one had a frustrated looking woman staring down a malfunctioning piece of equipment. It spluttered another few sparks, and she pawed at her grey hair. The house _also_ had a sign advertising rooms for rent.

"Blasted thing!" Her voice was shrill, and as he drew closer, he examined her a little more closely. She seemed about as innocuous as a person could be. More importantly, the machine in front of her – a water recycler – was a more interesting problem. The bit of machinery groaned, and he perked up, mind already leaping to figure out the tangle of electronics.

"You look as if you could use some help." His own voice still made him uncomfortable, unused to how it sounded. Of course, it was also more difficult than he remembered to be _friendly_, much less nonchalant about it.

But it was good enough for the old woman to give a relieved smile. "Oh, yes, very much so. I don't suppose you know anything about water recyclers?"

"A thing or two. I used to live on Tatooine." He forced himself to keep smiling even as inwardly, he winced. _Don't come down with a terminal case of honesty_, he chided himself as he stepped forward.

"Tatooine?"

"A desert planet, out in the outer rim. You wouldn't know it." He pasted on his best smile as she ooh-ed and nodded her head politely. Already his mind was trying to tackle both problems at once. At least the mechanical one was obvious: a simple short circuit. Power would just have to be rerouted.

But spinning a good story was a completely different task. To his chagrin, Obi-Wan's voice floated up in his thoughts: _A Jedi always tells the truth – just, perhaps, not the whole truth, and the truth from a certain point of view._ As much as he hated to admit it, he already knew that would be the tactic which would save him – just enough of the truth to be believable, and not any more.

But she was offering the spanner out to him, wrinkled face drawing into a worried frown. "Do you think you could fix it, perhaps? I'm afraid I don't have very much money, but..."

"Of course I can. It's quite fine." He had already disconnected the main powerline, and the spanner was enough to pop open the main outer cover. "Actually, I noticed that you were advertising a room to rent."

"Oh? You're looking for somewhere to stay? - I'd be happy to let you stay there for awhile, if you can get this fixed," she said anxiously, hovering annoyingly around him as he worked. "I would have thought from the look of you that you were Coruscantian."

He gave another weak smile. "Not quite." Small talk was such drudgework! He had forgotten. But he also didn't know when his luck was going to pick up again, so he forced himself to continue talking. "Just got off a shuttle, actually."

"Oh?" It was a curious tone, prompting him to continue.

It took him a moment to decide what he was going to say, and he covered up this moment's thought with acting as if it had been a tricky bolt to pop off. "I have a son who, ah... serves in the Imperial Navy." Close enough. _Almost_ true, if you tilted your head and squinted. The rest was not going to be so easy, especially with the dark side so close, so tempting. But he stumbled along without it anyway. "He said he was having his wages routed into an account here for me – he didn't take kindly to me staying out there on the moisture farm alone – but when I arrived here, I found the account empty and... well, his name on the missing in action list."

The sympathetic, clucking coo she gave made him breathe a sigh of relief. She had bought it, and that was good enough. "You poor dear. ...Alone? I suppose your wife didn't come with you?"

"She died a long time ago, I'm afraid." To his genuine surprise, the painfully sad, heartbroken smile seemed to stick naturally to his face. It was close to being true, so close that it _was_ truth, how much he still missed her.

"Oh! - Oh, dear." She looked momentarily horrified at the breech of etiquette. "Of course you can stay here for awhile, then. - After a month I might have to ask for some rent, but the water recycler is so important – I try to run a little restaurant every so often out of the front, and we'll be shut down..."

The fix was so simple that almost as soon as she began to explain, he pulled back to examine his handiwork and gave a satisfied nod before turning the main power line back on again. The machine chugged to life, giving a dry rasp before starting to pump water in, purification systems purring like a contented animal. The old woman gaped as he stood, dusting his hands off.

"But – that quickly? - But I just had a technician out here two weeks ago, and he spent five hours..."

"He left a power coupling loose so that it would fail again soon, most likely so you would call him again," he explained, perhaps a little too dryly, as he handed the spanner back to her. Even with the slightly aloof tone, she still seemed almost giddily joyous, looking half about to cry.

"Less than five minutes! - Wonderful, absolutely wonderful, my goodness - " With a bright smile she finally offered her hand out to him. "I'm Elia Vadis. - I suppose I'm your new landlady, now." She laughed at this, the giddiness at his repair still evident. "And you?"

For a long moment, he paused. It was terrifying to be asked his name – even when _he_ was distinctly unsure of who he was. Part of him wanted to be angry – what right did she have to force him into such a decision? But part of him clung to the first thing that bubbled up and seemed to make sense -

"Anakin," he blurted. "Anakin Naberrie. ...Pleased to meet you."


	6. Begin

"You know, Naberrie," she drawled, "there's something distinctly uncanny about you."

For a long moment he paused, mostly in confusion instead of fear before picking up another wrench. It was just his luck that the town gossip had talked to his new landlady and just so happened to need something fixed as well. He knew that this job, if he did it well – and it was a simple repair to the climate-control system in her apartment – would mean that he would have plenty of business, which was good, because little annoying human necessities were increasingly encroaching on his life. And, he admitted, he was no good to anyone if he died of starvation on the street. Luke still needed him.

"How so?"

"Oh, I don't know, just something uncanny," the woman said, waving a hand. He had already put up with an hour and a half of attempting to make small talk, which was, quite frankly, a special sort of hell, since he no longer had the luxury to either appear socially inept or order her to simply stop. At least the repair was nearly done, he told himself, gritting his teeth.

She paused to adjust her silken, red dress, as if that would help her spill out of it less; she wasn't exactly subtle about her profession, but he supposed that it could have always been worse. "You know, when you're a courtesan, you get to read people real well. More this day and age, though." She sighed, shifting a little to keep her weight mostly on the other foot, always self-conscious about keeping her posture just akimbo enough to be appealing. "You said your boy was in the Imperial Navy?"

He nodded, mouth full with the wrench, holding it while he pried the cover off of the last part of the unit needing repair.

"That's good. The decent ones usually go off to fight, they keep the low-lifes around here, within arm's reach, you know? I always have to be extra careful, these days. - You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" The cigarra and lighter were already in her hands.

"No, go ahead." He tried to content himself by singing out the thoughts in his head, trying to be cheerful in his aggravation: _Why yes I kriffing do mind, I think my lungs have seen quite enough smoke, thank you_.

The lighter gave a little click and the heavy, spiced smell of the cigarra perfumed the air; it wasn't especially unpleasant. Apparently it was another little luxury the woman was loathe to give up despite her circumstances, just like her rich dresses, even if they were a decade out of date and her girth was overflowing from them. "You know, Naberrie, you probably didn't see much of it, being on Tatooine and all, but sometimes I miss the old days, before the Empire, you know. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm no traitor -" She gesticulated with the cigarra, drawing a line of smoke in the air. "But things were so different back then."

"And we were all younger." It was a passive-aggressive comment, he knew, but fortunately the woman laughed.

"Exactly! Exactly. Used to have a little flat by the Jedi Temple, back in those days. Those were the best customers, the Jedi, I'll swear on a stack of any holy text you please. Always so polite, even if they came in and went out looking like they were just about to die of shame. Good tippers, too." She exhaled in a sigh; the cigarra smoke drifted around the room once more, and she laughed. "I bet I must be making you uncomfortable, huh, all this talk?"

_Making, no. Made, yes, about two hours ago_, he thought wryly, but instead shook his head. At least the repair was nearly done.

Her tone dipped into the friendly, gossipy voluptuousness it seemed to be inclined to, and he could tell she was grinning. "Don't worry, Naberrie, I'm not about to try and change your payment around. It's still the credits and the datapad, same as usual." As he put the last cover back on, thankful it had gone more quickly than expected, her tone became more serious. "Besides, I'd never try to pull that on a man like you. That's the uncanniness about you."

For a moment he felt himself tense. It was hard to rationalize the quick, abrupt fear away. She was just a simple whore – what could she really know? But she nodded and smirked as if she had received some insight before shaking her head as he tried to wipe the grease off of his hands.

"You've got a widower's eyes; Vadis was right. That's it. I understand what she was talking about, now." It was actual sympathy in her voice, something he hadn't gotten used to responding to. But the sad smile came easily, so he used it, before turning to flick the machine on. It grumbled but then went back to a steady hum as blessedly cool air started to pour out of the vents, making the house a tolerable temperature instead of what the administration had deemed a pleasant Coruscantian summer. "Finally!" Waddling over to the vent, she stood in the flow of air and gave a long sigh. "Suppose I should add that you're just about magic when it comes to machines, Naberrie. That's an uncanniness I think everyone around here will appreciate." He chuckled softly, and she waved to a pile near the door. "There's the old datapad and the credits we agreed on. Oh, and a pass to the Works nearby. I never use it, but sometimes they give them out, the local scrap company, a bit of charity for us or something – it's to go scavenge what you can. Newest shipment is supposed to be what they dredged up from Bespin. Worth something I suppose to you, since it's all machine bits anyway."

For a long moment he peered at the pass, turning it over in his fingers. There was a definite magnetism to it – fate or the Force or both, he couldn't tell. But it was enough to make his smile pleasant as he thanked her and went. It was even enough to keep his voice soft and relatively kind as he found something close enough to food being sold by a street vendor for dinner, and then spend fifteen minutes in pleasant conversation with Vadis before finally locking himself in his room.

He wouldn't have called it a good mood, really. But it was a new sense of purpose, as he flicked on the datapad and gave a soft sigh, wondering where to start. The blank screen taunted him for a bit until, finally, he drew one line and then another, and by the end of the night the Executor was on the page in detail with everything he hoped the Rebel Alliance would need to know to conquer it.

It was a start.


	7. Vessel Shimenawa

"...injury, mental or physical trauma, sterility, fundamental DNA mutations, and/or liquidization into base atoms. Sign and date here, please."

He took a moment to ruminate on what he had just been told. "That," he said carefully, aware of the understatement, "is quite a disclaimer."

"Standard operating procedure," the bonthan said sullenly. "Sign and date. _Please_." He didn't really blame her for being sullen; she was stuck in a menial job in the Works of Coruscant, where it wasn't yet noon but the air was already hazy with smog. She had slathered on makeup, shaved the fur from her face, and even had an elaborate hairpiece woven into her headfur all for the sake of appearing more human, as was the xenophobic pressure these days. After he scribbled something unrecognizable for his signature, she snatched the datapad from him and let out a heavy sigh. "Right. Fine. ...Let me see your pass. ...All finds with an estimated value over a thousand credits must be reported to the front gate on exit, not sure if I mentioned that." She had, three times over. "Not responsible for injury, and... right. You should be good to go, happy scavenging," the bonthan sighed out.

He put the new scarf back over his face as the gate clatteringly rose to let him through. It was later in the day than he would have liked, the acrid smoke ubiquitous to the Works stinging in his eyes, but at least the emergency job that had delayed him gave him the few credits to buy the cheap scarf. Any barrier to keep any of this from getting in his lungs was a good one.

The landscape, pinned in by tall factory buildings as it was, consisted of piles and piles of softly shining grey, and an ethereal scent of ozone still drifted up from the scrap fresh in from Bespin. It was machinery of one sort or another, mostly gas mining equipment that had fallen to meet a bad end, and was on its way to meet a worse one, sorted and melted down to be reborn into parts for the new Empire's ships. Knowing that it was all destined to be part of some TIE fighter, he didn't feel guilty in the least as he sloughed through the dunes of broken metal. All he needed was a relay for the Holonet access box already outfitted in his room so that he stood some chance of sending information to the Alliance...

...And to find whatever was tingling on the edge of his senses as important, in the distance.

He sighed, scrubbing the soot off of a spindly tower of machinery that swayed as the wind picked up. Buffing it to a shine was enough to let him figure out that it would do, and like the rest of the other figures shuffling along the metal hills, he quickly disassembled enough to stuff what he needed into his pockets.

It reminded him far too much of Tatooine – the heat, the soot and grit in the air, the hunched figures following the crest of every hill. But it was at least profitable, every broken machine full of yet another possibility. He hesitated to call it such, but there was a hope in it. Usefulness from uselessness. If nothing else all the gears and connectors and wires were familiar to him – a world that he understood. A world that was nonjudgemental. There was no light or dark, there was just working or not. He could blame the people, certainly, but electricity coursing in pre-designed channels was true neutral.

He was so caught up in raptures that he only paused when something snapped underneath his foot, and the Force seemed to hit him between the eyes as good as a blaster bolt. He winced and shook his head before stepping back and crouching.

A hand – or at least, what used to be a hand – was there, fingers now crushed. It was no longer meaty and full but shriveled, freeze-dried by falling through all the gases of Bespin. The skin had pulled away from the fingernails, taut and sallow in a bloodless sort of way. The crunch it had given seemed more like a branch in the forest than anything that had ever been human. It did not seem real.

The lightsaber it was still grasping was, however, very real and very familiar.

_Luke's._ For a moment he wondered when in his head it had become Luke's lightsaber when he had been the one to build it, when he knew every connection and circuit. Gently, he crouched down. The wind picked up, tugging on the end of his scarf.

He scooped up the brittle pieces of once-flesh along with the lightsaber, cradling them in his hands like a drink of water from some sacred fountain. Eyes burning with the start of something that might have been tears, he rebuked himself, then paused, and rebuked again: _You should be crying at this_.

The wind whipped about him more strongly, and he closed his eyes. The rage that had consumed and defined him was past, even if it was directed into self-loathing. Even the yoke of guilt on his shoulders didn't seem quite to fit. He realized he had been holding his breath, and let it out in a shaking sigh. It was picked up and carried by the wind which hummed out a solid note past his ears.

He didn't know what to do.

The doubt was the largest, most certain thing. Now was not the time for some solemn and overdramatic pledge; the idea of using his son's suffering as a symbol of his own pledge made his eyebrows furrow in disgust. But what else was there? He couldn't return it, not now. To even stretch out through the Force and ask Luke would be asking for the Emperor to notice such ripples in the fabric of the unseen universe and send an army crashing down on his head.

For a few very long moments there was silence and the own white, blank turmoil of his own thoughts. The wind rustled the dried, shriveled, broken fingers, and he held all of it tightly, as if it were a baby bird fallen from its nest – as if somehow the simple act of clenching it closer to protect it would, by some sympathetic magic, reach out to Luke.

A voice, finally, whispered, half in the wind, but gentle and solemn enough to let him know it was from the Light and not the Dark. _Take it and use it_.

Practically, it made sense. The growing uneasiness of not being able to defend himself in the open without giving himself away due to lightsaber style would be solved if he simply switched to Jar'Kai, two lightsabers at the ready instead of one. But there was still a numb doubt in his throat.

Sliding the lightsaber out from the hand's grasp, he tucked it into his belt. The fact that it seemed so at home was only a small comfort. Instead, he took off his scarf, carefully wrapping the hand in it like a shroud before setting it on fire, cradled in the crook of some still-shining piece of machinery.


	8. Wraith

For ten minutes at noon, the sun stood overhead where he could see it – and that was only if he stood in one corner. The rest of the scavengers did not seem to be as mesmerized by the slim beam of unfiltered light, but it was a rarity in the Works and even more of a treat to the lower city neighborhood he was forced to call home.

The dust in the air thickened at the same rate more and more newcomers, off from dead-end marginal jobs, swarmed the pile of scrap. He also noticed that those with the means were carrying old, rented DC-15s, carbines and rifles alike. But the air was so acrid that he had to put his hand up to try and block out some of the dust, eyes burning fiercely. He had forgotten what a real coughing fit felt like, to feel the muscles in his back straining. The hours of searching for scrap didn't help the burning aches, either.

The scheduled rainstorm made the air slightly more tolerable, but it robbed them of light, and by what he assumed was only afternoon the landscape had slid into diffused shadows again.

It was a soft and subtle change but the hour started with people uncomfortably close and it ended with him nearly alone. The machinery stood in disarray, picked over and cleaned so that the shells just stood there gleaming softly like white-bleached bones in desert sands. The landscape was oddly familiar, comforting even, at least until there was a shudder and grinding noise as an ancient PA system wailed to life. The actual message was lost in a fuzzy mutter (though he did recognize the lilt as the Bonthan woman's), but the keening siren made things much more clear.

Truthfully, he waited a little too long to actually run. The threat wasn't visible yet, but the two other figures in the quadrant of the scrapfield bolted immediately. Another echoing, grinding noise – the gate had locked, isolating them – holding something in, he knew immediately, instead of out. One of the two others, a twi'lek girl, wailed and shook the chainlink, and even as he jogged up to the gate he kept his distance. It was simple metal – it would be easy enough to slice through with his lightsaber. Given two minutes to adjust the tiny dials, on camera it might just appear as a compact blowtorch. And the fence wasn't too high to climb, really, though he'd have to be careful of the barbed wire at the top -

"Give it here, give it here!" The twi'lek girl was already shaking out of fear, but her partner – a boy who looked worn out like a threadbare dishrag, even if he couldn't have been more than fifteen – fumbled to hand her the rented DC-15 rifle. "Oh kriff, they're here, they're already here..."

Her terror was almost tangible in the air, and he ran his tongue over his teeth as if trying to sweep the bitter taste of it away. The wail of the sirens dipped in pitch as if the old machinery was catching a breath before it wheezed out another note so steady it seemed to shake. And then he saw them climbing over the far dune of scrap metal, bodies slick and sickly white – a pack of cthon, the rakghouls of Coruscant.

He had been expecting to see them, eventually, so low in the city. His hand confidently wrapped around his lightsaber – _his_ lightsaber, not Luke's, the other remaining safely tucked in his belt. There was likely no need for a battle, even, he would just vault over the high fence and let the angered, feral beasts soothe their rabid curiosities and then retreat, but -

Her blue hands were shaking and she sobbed. "It's not working," she stated hysterically, trying to aim it even as the boy clutched at her shoulders. "We're going to kriffing die, we're going to _die_ -"

He put the lightsaber back in his belt.

"Give it here." He was surprised at how calm and quiet his voice was, gentle even. He had forgotten that it could be such a way, after so many years of projecting through the mask and snarling, even if his voice seemed to naturally be so soft.

The twi'lek hesitated, staring at him warily. But one of the pack of cthon clawed down an empty metal casing; it clattered, and she shrieked before shoving the rifle in his hands.

It felt, he realized, as if it belonged there. Not that he was ever inclined to blaster rifles, but if he was, there was definitely a nostalgia in the DC-15s, a wistfulness about the good old days of the Clone Wars. And a firm memory that his fingers were better at finding than his mind. Up, a little to the left, wiggle the cartridge out. Rex's voice at his shoulder – _these units get a little ornery sometimes, sir, just remove and replace and that usually sorts it out._ A good practical lesson, to make a battle he and the clone troops knew they were going to win more interesting.

_Level it to your shoulder and –_ _I know how to fire a blaster rifle, thank you, Rex._

The sight was grimy, expectedly so, but now when he pulled the trigger he was rewarded with a laserbolt. It neatly sliced through a cthon's head, splintered off the metal – and sparks, just like that first lucky shot into the line of battle droids.

_Not bad. _Easy shot, into the chest. Another down. _It works well, Rex._ Why didn't they fall out of formation? Why didn't they scatter? No matter, easier to shoot. _Inelegant, but..._ That was the same scream, too, a little whine to it, as if mourning the life that was never really true to begin with, just all false pretenses. _It does the job._

_Yessir, it does._

The sirens were still wailing as the last cthun fell with a gurgle.

The twi'lek and boy – mute, perhaps, given the way he did not even attempt to speak – both stared, but she immediately started trying to gasp out her thanks even as she still half-sobbed. "Oh Gods, oh my Gods that was – that was kriffing amazing, thank you, _thank you_, we'll give you all our scrap and -"

He shook his head before offering the gun back to her, and in a voice that was as much Rex's as his own, explained patiently: "The cartridges stick, sometimes... just remove and replace and that usually sorts it out."

The sirens were still going when the gate clattered open, and he considered that a good enough cue as any to excuse himself. The security staff let him through without a hassle, even with a little admiration. "Thank you for your service," one of them blurted, before looking a little ashamed.

"Pardon?"

"Your service." The guard was flustered, but smiled anyway. "I saw how you handled that blaster, you must be a veteran, uh, sir." He nearly forgot the honorific, tacking it on at the end at the last moment. "So thank you."

He had to take a moment to collect himself enough to find an appropriate expression. "You have nothing to thank me for," he finally said, but only with a smile so the guard could presume it was humility instead of guilt.


	9. This Rain, It Will Continue

The WeatherNet connection must have been thoroughly broken, he thought, because the rainshowers continued to the point where he invested in a waterproof poncho. It was a good investment: the hood covered his face and the rain was an excuse to wear it.

The streets were crowded enough that he was able to duck into one of the old abandoned factories and use a half-broken Holonet connection that told him all he needed to know.

And the next day he went to the local bar, same as he had been doing for the past two weeks. He knew it was important to be seen as a regular, and besides, that was where most of the odd jobs he was collecting now came from – people who had heard he was handy enough with machinery to hire. And the food, he supposed, wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was just the sort of food one would expect in such a bar. It was not a bar where people went to celebrate wildly, but it was not an entirely morose place either. It was simply full of people who had that synthale to survive a hard, menial job, so they could go home to their small shacks to work another day same as the one they had already lived. It was the sort of bar where the bartender posted a 40% interest rate on all bar tabs because it was the only way to stay in business.

So people saw him there and assumed the old widower was trying to soothe himself and find his wife in the bottom of a glass of cheap ale, and he wondered if they weren't at least a little bit right.

But as he sat at the corner table and picked at the last of his dinner (some sort of starch and some sort of meat, he wasn't sure he could really identify which of each), he stared out at the room with purpose. He had been watching the man for days, and now he was absolutely sure, especially since he was content to let the rest of the people at the bar think that, whenever he lowered his head and closed his eyes to probe the thoughts in the room with the Force, he was getting misty-eyed over some memory. After days of listening it was clear, the man's assertive thoughts standing out like a banner in the room, a bight crimson pennant unfurling on unseen currents. He was the Rebel Alliance's man. Not that there was much for him to do: the people living there were already so thoroughly beaten they did not really remember how to fight, but the promise of unions and slightly less damnably grueling workdays was enough for them to offer tacit support.

As such nobody much cared when he got up and slid into the other man's booth offering a bright smile he had to be very careful to maintain. The other man peered at him suspiciously. "I don't think we've been introduced. ...Anakin Naberrie, right?"

"Exactly." He reached out, took the other man's handshake. Though the other man took the data cards, it was a seamless palming, smoothly transferred from one to the other.

"Selian Vadis." He smirked. "My aunt's your landlady."

"You've already heard an earful, then."

"Only good things, I promise," Selian said, grinning. He wasn't so sure this was true, but it was true enough for him to keep the smile on. The data chips flashed in Selian's hand. "But you're here for business."

"Of course." It was a pleasantly mild answer. He didn't say more but instead knitted his hands on the table.

Selian flipped the data cards in-between his fingers. "I don't know," he said slowly and calmly, "what you're trying to get at, but if you think I'm just going to plug these into my datapad like I'm some fool wanting to get tracked down by the Empire..."

"I expect you to do no such thing," he said pleasantly.

Selian stared a moment. And he smiled. He was starting to appreciate the power of an eerily calm smile over a mask. It unnerved people deeply, and he was appreciating the long moments of the other person trying to figure out why a smile was so unnerving.

"Fine," Selian said, guard up, abrasive out of self-defense. "What do you expect me to do, then?"

"Think carefully, make a decision, and act appropriately." He sipped at the watered-down synthale, glad he had brought his drink. "Don't bother looking up my name. You won't find anything." Selian stared before he explained: "This is a good thing. If I were actually an Imperial I would have forged records going back at least twenty years."

"So you're telling me that you're sloppy, _and_ you're not who my aunt thinks."

"I am as much as I say I am as you are Vadis' nephew."

The other man gritted his teeth a little. "Fine." The datacards slipped between his fingers and he shuffled them like pazaak cards. "So what's on here, exactly – supposedly?"

"An algorithm for accessing high-security files."

Selian stopped spinning the datacards, still wearing a pleasant smile so that those from a distance could not tell they were doing more than casually chatting, even though his voice was a low growl. "Old man, if you're trying to tell me you're some sort of master slicer..."

"Not a master, just knowledgeable." The younger man frowned deeply, but he kept his expression light and his tone impassive. "Most of the slicing attempts have – I'm guessing – tried to make a new personnel entry, which is a messy process; however, no entries are truly _deleted_. It's a one-byte change to make that entry _alive_ instead of _deceased_, a much more streamlined process."

The young man spun the datacard between his forefinger and thumb before tapping it on the table. "So, what's the catch?"

"The catch?"

"There's always a catch." He had, truthfully, not been expecting to find the young man so intelligent.

And, of course, he smiled and took a sip of his drink. "No catch," he lied. "I just have a keen interest in helping the Alliance succeed." _That_, of course, was the catch. He had done enough scouting to know, absolutely, that even with stealth on his side, the odds of getting his son alive from where Luke was being held were too great.

Besides, as Selian turned the datacards over in his hand, they seemed to belong there. It was an eerie feeling, having the Force acknowledge he was doing something right, or doing what it wanted.

"Besides," he joked morosely, "You know where I live."

Selian snorted out a laugh. "If these send out an alert, I'll see you first thing in the morning with my best blaster, I can promise you that."

He shrugged. "Take them and see if it's of any use to you," he said as nonchalantly as he could. "I'll be here again tomorrow."

He finished his drink, and went home. True to his word, he was there the next day. For a little bit of variety, the unnamed meat and starch on a plate for dinner there was covered in gravy which at least was flavorful, he supposed, if nothing else. He had barely touched his drink when Selian entered the bar, and, looking a little pale and shaken, demandingly slid into the seat opposite him.

"I don't know who the kriff you are," Selian blurted, "but however you got that, we could damn well use more."

He smiled. "Just what I wanted to hear."

* * *

_A/N:_ _Thank you again to everyone who is out there reading and reviewing. I try not to do the bratty author thing of ever begging for reviews or putting too much importance on them, but it truly does mean a lot to know there are people out there enjoying what I take so much pleasure in writing, especially since so many of you have a very definite, fine taste in the sorts of fanfiction you read. I promise the story _does_ pick up soon, and you will see some characters other than Anakin/Vader... thank you for your patience with me. And especially – thank you for reading!_


	10. Terms and Conditions Apply

The little receiver relay was at least loud enough for him to muffle the buzz of the lightsabers as he practiced; by the time he truly felt comfortable in Jar'kai again, he was sure that the top forty of the week had been thoroughly seared in his brain. He only hoped that he would not automatically pull himself into a battle stance at hearing the first few bars of the latest sugary-sweet pop number and the whining, nasal singing of their twi'lek frontman.

And he slept, and he worked.

_Work_, of course, filled all the hours of the day other than the few he spared for sleep (usually slumped over whatever he was working on last that day). There was so much to tell the Alliance: that was work. There were so many requests from those in the neighborhood, too, and he recognized the value of continuing to eat, so: that was work. Even the nightly drink in the bar was work, because it was keeping up appearances he couldn't afford to lose.

That explained why when he snorted awake to the sound of someone banging on his door, he shook himself off in a distinctly ursine manner before admiring the long line of gibberish he had managed to type out on the datapad thanks to an entire night of drooling into it. But the knock persisted, almost hysterical, and so he dragged himself up, running a hand through his hair and putting on his best cheerful face for whoever was at the door even while he already had his lightsaber in his hand.

He was _not_ expecting the boy – maybe eight, at the oldest, though it was hard to tell, even with his friend by his side – to cut him off before he could even get out a hello. Instead the boy was nearly bawling. "Mr. Naberrie, Mr. Naberrie, please you gotta help me!"

"I, uh -"

The child thrust a box into his hands, wide air holes showing a dull pink rag underneath. There was no time to object, even though he recoiled. Truthfully, he didn't hate children; he was _terrified_ of them, so unfamiliar, so foreign. If there had been another way, he would have slammed the door shut and tried to forget that the children had ever seen him as approachable. At least he hadn't ever had problems with this before, he mused bitterly; even in the failed stunt of _Bring Your Offspring to Duty Day_ all of the Imperial Navy knew that you did not introduce your spawn to Darth Vader.

And the child kept talking as he found himself scrambling to support the box. "You _gotta_ help us, Yannie is real sick and, and me and Jadt -" The small zabrak boy nodded in fierce, open-mouth agreement - "don't have enough money and neither does Jadt's mom or my mom, so we can't take Yannie to a real animal doctor, but you fix things real good -"

"I don't -!"

" - and Yannie's _real_ sick and we gotta go to Academy and we were gonna take Yannie with us but the teacher says no, and we don't want Yannie to be sick in one of our lockers all sad and alone, we'll pay you all the money we've been saving up we promise -"

"But -!"

"Please please please, Mr. Naberrie, _please_ -"

And the box was in his hands, and the boy's snapped back to catch him in a hug. Apparently holding the weight of the box alone was enough for the boy, and his zabraki friend burst into smiles. "Thank you so much Mr. Naberrie, thank you lots! We'll be back as soon as we're outta school -"

"We're already late," lamented the zabrak.

"And, and – yeah! Thank you Mr. Naberrie!"

They sprinted away so quickly that he was left holding the box and gaping a little. Whatever objections he had been holding in left him in a long, frustrated sigh. For a long moment he was tempted to quietly put the box out on the street and close the door, but the weight of it became a tangible reminder of the responsibility he had been given. So, gritting his teeth, he stepped back into the apartment, opening the top of the cheap box to peer at what was inside.

"I'm not sure exactly what just happened," he confessed to its contents.

It was a slinket. He knew only because Ahsoka had been obsessed with them when they made their debut – a genetically modified, created pet, a tubular body with long fluffy tail and pointed, near-canine face. Of course, the company had made a critical error in debuting the created creature to the pet market, and what they had intended to be an exclusive product quickly spiralled out of control as the animals were not as neutered as they intended. Now slinkets were ubiquitous, a pet cheap enough for even the children in the miserable slums to save up and afford. The calico pattern on its greying fur was even still in hearts, disgustingly cutesy to the point of being slightly nauseating.

It looked up at him and blinked. And because he was not content with being quiet, he continued speaking. "I suppose you're Yannie."

It burst out into a rumbling purr, a happiness so pure it glimmered brightly in the Force. He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure you want to do that. You don't even know who I am." But it purred hummingly and continued staring up at him with wide, liquid eyes. Sighing, he sat down on the small cot he never used, eying it as if staring at it would make the animal make sense. A terrible, violent thought scurried across his mind: it was so insufferably happy that for an instant he imagined reaching in and snapping its neck – no, twisting its long body just to make it stop purring, to see if it could yelp in pain, or if it would keep on with the same blithe, stupid happiness – just like how on Mustafar he had been sickly curious as much as angry, waiting to see if that warm hope and love would die as he crushed her windpipe -

The wave of nausea nearly made him retch and he had to close his eyes to let it pass. Subconsciously, he reached down to pet the creature. Its fur was soft, and he was pleased to have replacement limbs well-built enough that he could appreciate it. Limply, it leaned into his touch, desperately happy for the attention. It was enough for him to give a resigned sigh, picking it up. No visible injuries, no real sickness... "I don't see anything wrong with you," he mused to the creature, and it responded with another fierce burst of purring. "Just all of this greying fur."

Things seemed to settle into place in his mind, and he looked the animal in the eye. "I know. We're both getting old."

He paused.

"But apparently only one of us is going insane, given how I'm talking to _you_," he finally said with bitter wryness.

The slinket purred, hysterically happy. And he sighed.

There was so much work to be done, still. He did try to put the small creature down, to settle it in the nest of a threadbare rag the boys had made for it, but it clawed at his hand, desperate to be near him out of some pre-programmed need to please humanity. It made him uncomfortable, a little sick, even, as he tried to peel it off of himself. "Please get off," he politely begged, as much as he would allow himself to beg. But it was relentless in its happiness whenever he was holding it, humming out a purr with each labored breath.

It occurred to him, finally, after seeing the slinket's failing strength and heavy breaths, the boys had given him care of the pet because they did not want it to die alone. With a sigh, he managed to cradle it to his chest enough where it was content, tapping at the datapad while finding the other half of the nutritive bar he hadn't remembered to finish yesterday. And the animal settled down as he chewed thoughtfully over the plans of the _Executor_ he was busy drawing from memory, each little breath rolling out a purr. It was easy to let the animal's happy glow in the Force be pushed from his mind as he tried to remember details that the Alliance could use to bring down his behemoth flagship. Well, not his anymore, he supposed – but his enough that it had been pressed to duty on the outer rim, away from the public eye, after his disappearance. It was a menace the Alliance would encounter someday, if not someday soon.

It was hours later when the sound of knocking pulled him out of his work again. The amount of time startled him; it seemed to have gone by quickly, when he was so focused on his work. And he only noticed it when he pulled away a little to look at the animal in the crook of his arm. It was limp, a little too limp. He brushed the top of its head, between the ears, and it didn't flinch. In fact, it didn't move at all.

Numbly, he realized the little light of happiness that was the slinket, in the Force, had dimmed and finally died, and he hadn't even noticed.

The knock at the door became a little more urgent, and he slowly got up, knowing that it had to be answered and leaving the solemnly horrific thought to develop in his thoughts like a swiftly growing black bruise. The boys both burst into tears, knowing immediately what had happened; the xabraki tried to stutter out something thanking him for watching after the animal anyway.

And he was terrified, because he had no idea of what to say, much less of what to say to a child. What to tell them – that he had already learned years ago death was something he couldn't fix, couldn't prevent, even after being sold a spiritual snake-oil cure? Wasn't it something they already knew, the way they were quietly fighting over who got to hold the corpse of the creature, hugging and sobbing over it as if this had some mystic power to bring it back? (And what if it did, and why hadn't he ever tried to do so with Padmé?)

It still gave him no ideas of what to say.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed in a voice so gentle and small it was unlike him before reaching out, guiding the boys back to the residential block that he had luckily guessed was their home. Both of them cried and didn't truly answer him. And when the zabraki mother tried to give him a few credits for his trouble, he refused.


	11. Abort, Retry, Fail?

The zabraki woman insisted on trying to give him a few credits and on the fifth offer, he finally felt obligated to accept so he could be on his way without seeming ungrateful.

And he hurried back to the apartment to close the door behind him, slide down to sit on the floor, and wonder why he had hurried.

There was no shadowy darkness or dramatic thunderstorms; the eighteen-minute rainshower was downright pleasant, just as WeatherNet had scheduled it to be. The physical world was not cooperating with the numb despair that had settled over him. It made it that much easier to retreat into himself, to block out the noise of the machinery rattling outside his window or the ever-present noise of the residents of the slums.

He hadn't noticed.

It wasn't a dramatic at all; it was a slow creeping finally coming to fruition, floorboards of an ancient house finally rotting through to buckle and break. It was a natural mental entropy, and so when he realized what had happened, it was already too late to fight it.

_He hadn't noticed._

That was his blind spot, it had always been his blind spot. He didn't need the small voice in the back of his head to busily remind him. The creature had just been a pet, but it was so bright in the Force, too stupid to do anything but be loving. Too stupid, too beautiful, too virtuous? He couldn't tell anymore: all he knew is that he was blind to it.

And of course, every time he berated himself for being so foolish as to find something of Padmé in a child's pet, he just knew more solidly that it was the same sort of blindness that had prevented him from seeing her desperate, foolish, unending love, and how it flickered and died with her.

The shadows ambled a little further on the floor before becoming diffused and soft again, and his thoughts turned to Luke again. It was too dangerous to shout into the Force, to scream for Luke to answer; he knew that Palpatine would be quite happy to step in. Some of his neighbors would likely be killed in the shootout and he was certain that he'd be the talk of the gossips for quite awhile; he was also just as certain that he wouldn't leave Coruscant alive. But he was desperate for some small sign that Luke was still alive. It would have been just like his son, he thought – perhaps being exceedingly stupid as a young man was inherited – to use the light side of the Force to purify confusion and anger into simple, foolish, unconditional love...

Perhaps he just hadn't noticed yet, if that light had been snuffed out as well.

And truly (the voice whispered, but not from the darkness; the room was still well-lit, without many shadows – it came from himself, terrifyingly so)... And truly, what was the point even in trying? It would be months – years, perhaps, more likely – before he could truly be in any position to save his son. There would be battles, the slow encroaching fungus of reconquering territories, the murky intelligence he would have to wade through... and that assumed that the Emperor made a critical error and left Luke where he could be saved. He reminded himself that he knew the bastard far too well, now; the Emperor would clutch his new prize closely and fight to keep it. It was impossible.

A soft glow caught the corner of his eye, but the numbness kept him from turning his head. "Anakin," an unfortunately familiar voice whispered. "_Anakin_."

He paused to unstick his mouth, half drawling his answer. "I think you've got the wrong apartment, old man."

"Anakin." A paternal, damning disappointment rang in the voice, alongside exasperated amusement. "It is not impossible." The ghostly figure crouched before him, trying to catch his eye, and he quickly glanced away, fixating on a pile of spare parts in the corner.

"I'm not sure what I've done to be honored with this lecture." Sarcasm was an easy, cheap defense, all fluff and no substance. It just made him feel more vulnerable, and he knew that his old master saw straight through it.

But it still made Obi-Wan chuckle dryly under his breath. "Nothing is impossible with the Force. You know this, Anakin."

He said nothing for a moment, his mouth drawing into a thin line of a frown. "It will be difficult."

"Yes, it will," Obi-Wan said calmly and pleasantly, as if they were discussing a jog through a swamp instead of intergalactic warfare.

A sigh rolled out of him through his nose, half a snort; the Force ghost straightened and gazed around the room, not trying to meet his eyes again. It was a politeness, a way to generate some distance for the question Obi-Wan knew he was about to ask.

He was still unused to his voice being so small, so pathetically weak. But he spoke anyway. "I realize I am in... no position to ask a favor. But -"

"I will go to him," the ghost interrupted calmly, smiling. "Luke still lives, Anakin. It is not as impossible as you would like to think."

He was still trying to find the words for some sort of thanks that would allow him to save face when Obi-Wan smiled disarmingly. "Besides, there is no need to ask for favors between brothers." He flinched as if he had been struck, but the blue glow was gone and Obi-Wan was no longer there to indignantly correct. He was alone.

A public shuttlecraft swooped low enough to rattle the walls, and another shouted argument started up outside. The sun was just barely starting to dim, but it still filled the apartment with a pleasant light. Slowly, he stood, picking up the datapad with a sense of exhausted duty to continue telling the Rebel Alliance anything he thought would be useful.


	12. Comedic Timing

The office chair wheezed around in circles as it spun slowly, finally coming to a stop. She extended a foot to plant it against the side of the steel security desk before kicking off, like a swimmer at the side of a pool, and the office chair spun back around the opposite way. The beige grey ceiling's pattern turning into circular streaks was only marginally more interesting than what she was supposed to be looking at.

Mara Jade was bored.

That was, she thought, a massive understatement. She had been bored for months, and on Coruscant there was not even the option of doing something to harass an underling and cause an incident of interest.

With a long sigh, she sat up to stare dully at the screen. Luke Skywalker was, as usual, slumped in the corner of his cell, eyes dazed and unfocused. The increased dose of the serum was starting to make him drool, but anything less and the Emperor decided he had too much autonomy. And, of course, to say Mara was bitter about this was like saying Tatooine had a wee bit of sand.

Not that she was one to celebrate prematurely, she reminded herself. Of course when the news came that Vader had been ambushed while in his personal fighter was delicious, and she had smiled, but she had refrained from letting herself gloat until his name was officially moved to the Missing In Action, Presumed Dead list. She had waited patiently, so patiently, for the Emperor to finally give her the promotion that she felt had been hers for years. And she waited. Whatever hope she had that being Skywalker's babysitter was a temporary trial had long since faded. It was drudgery. Watching paint dry would have been more interesting. Even playing sabacc against the computer had completely lost any appeal, she'd done it so much. Oh, at first, it had been all right to stare at him. He looked as she remembered him from Tatooine, when he had been a pleasantly interesting prey, charmingly competent (but not _good_) with his lightsaber or the Force. As he sat drugged out of his mind, when she was initially so bored, he was even still handsome enough for her to consider using him simply because it'd be something to do.

But now his cheeks were sunken, his skin pale and greying, and dark circles hung underneath his eyes (never mind that pathetic, slackjawed expression). Whatever charm the farmboy once had was now neatly eradicated. She was disgusted. And very bored.

She had spent fifteen minutes trying to get her hair into the most complicated braid she could think of, using only the Force (because in her desperation it had seemed like something barely approaching fun), when a small sound made her jump. Frowning, she peered at the screen, and the output of the many cameras in Skywalker's cell. The sound came again from the tinny speaker. It was, perhaps, a laugh – a very small, gurgling sort of one. And he was... smiling?

Laughter, and _smiling?_ That was certainly all wrong. With over-eager excitement, she shook out her hair, bounding up to nearly skip down the hall in excitement. Something was actually happening! Even if it was a minor incident, at least it broke up the monotony.

The cell doors opened with a hiss and she crossed her arms, gleeful to finally have the chance to look her most impressively furious. "_What_ is going on in here?"

It took Luke Skywalker a few seconds to actually look at her, his gaze not quite as dull and distant as she remembered. The smile slid off of his face. But she couldn't see the other figure standing in the room. She especially could not see how Obi-Wan grinned, and she was not aware of how the Force ghost whispered a joke only Luke could hear. It was, of course, a joke at her expense. But it was what Luke needed to hear, just as how the last hour had been spent with Obi-Wan bringing the boy hope and a small bit of entertainment through old war-stories and wisdom.

The joke hit true and after a few seconds for his sluggish, drugged brain to process it, Luke burst into wheezing laughter.

"What is it?" Her eyebrows knit in frustration, and her nostrils flared in a snort. "_What is going on_, Skywalker?"

Kenobi made another comment she did not see or hear, and Luke's wheezy laughter redoubled. It was such a pure and simple delight, to laugh at a joke after months of torture, that Mara found herself baring her teeth at how much the light side of the Force permeated the room. It was like an obnoxious, over-applied perfume; she half expected to start sneezing. Unfortunately, she did finally get the idea that there was a joke she was not in on.

"Fine. _Fine_. We can fix this," she huffed, glancing back to the ample cabinet of torture devices that were not actually supposed to be provided for her use. But she felt justified in bending the rules. The smile slid off of Skywalker's face again.

Her night was much more interesting, but she did not understand by what power Luke remained so stoic through it all.

* * *

_A/N: A chapter with no Vader/Anakin whiny introspection? Sign of the apocalypse! ...Seriously though, this and the next chapter mark the point where I think the story starts to pick up. We should be out of introspectionland soon, and I apologize that it took so long for this to get going! As always, thank you for reading... it really makes my day to know others enjoy reading what I enjoy writing. :)_


	13. Eminence Front

Truthfully, Leia didn't mind the late night shift. It wasn't as if she was going to get any sleep anyway, though she did occasionally try. By the time she heard the small beeping of the comlink, she had focused on taking deep and slow breaths for so long that it was almost as good as taking a nap. She was certainly still yawning when she made her way down the dimly-lit corridors, darkened in a false sense of night-time onboard the massive spaceship.

"It's four-thirty in the morning, Gael, this had better be interesting if nothing else."

The bothan looked up at her with wide eyes and nodded frantically. "Senator Organa! I didn't know a senior staff would respond so quickly – but it is interesting, very interesting."

"Enough to not wait until the morning?" She stifled another yawn and made her way to an empty chair. The intelligence room was usually busy with the full staff working at all the terminals, but now most of the screens were dim, save for the one the bothan was busy tapping away at. Gael looked more flustered than she remembered him, Leia had to admit: while he thought she wasn't looking, he licked at his fingertips and tried to pat down some of his fur where it had frizzled in excitement or fear.

"Yes, definitely. - I'll have a full report on Mon Mothma's desk in the morning, but..." He reached up to paw at his mane again, looking overwhelmed. "It's important – important enough that I need to make sure you're seeing what I'm seeing."

She frowned, eyebrows knitting, but politely said nothing. Instead, a gentle sweep of her hand indicated that she wished for him to continue.

"I'm not sure how much General Cracken has told you. But there's an agent in Coruscant we've been watching – blind approach, don't know for sure if he's toxic – ah, an Imperial agent, I mean." The bothan fumbled with a data disc, taking two tries to pick it up before inserting it into the holovid player. "But it's good intel. _Excellent_ intel. If he's toxic, he's stupid, it's the Empire handing us victories on silver platters. We've worked at having this confirmed but it was information crucial in landing us the latest few victories..."

His claw clicked against the keyboard as he called up the data disc's information, and Leia's eyes widened. Images flickered by quickly, one after the other at a frantic pace, and scrolling text became a blur. Her mouth dropped open slightly in amazement. _Now_, certainly, Leia was awake. "All of that so far? That is... quite impressive."

"That was only last week's transmission," the bothan said almost giddily. "_This_ is all the intel he's handed over to us so far."

The holoscreens around the room blazed with light. Diagrams and text became a steady stream of information, overwhelming, before finally coming to a pause. Leia gaped more than politely, turning in her chair to see it all. Fortunately, the bothan continued talking while she was left speechless.

"Quite a lot of it has been pulled with Imperial access codes; either he's a damn good slicer or - "

"Or he's a traitor," Leia interrupted, tone distant and nearly dreamy.

"Yes, exactly. The agent on Coruscant has only been able to provide us a little information; he's too smart to hand over a corneal scan. But we received this with the last batch..."

The screens dimmed again to allow the main holoprojector to light up with a complex diagram that shone like a jewel in an ornate setting. By now the bothan's fur had fluffed again in excitement, but he didn't seem to realize it, or care, as pleased to be flaunting what he knew to a superior as he was to be reveling in the fact that the Alliance was gaining a crucial edge. "This diagram is of the _Executor_, and – this is what's simply amazing, well, the first bit anyway – it's hand-drawn. The author's switched to his non-dominant hand, here -" He gestured at where part of the diagram had been captioned - "so handwriting analysis is harder but not inconclusive. It matches none of the Moffs we have on record." Leia's eyebrows rose, and the bothan saw how her mouth was curling to ask what the point of this all was. "Wait, wait, it gets better!"

She frowned a little poutingly, but kept quiet out of politeness as his claws lightly clacked against the keyboard. "The description the operative's given us hasn't been too useful – he's tall, solidly built, blue eyes, brown hair going to grey, late forties to early fifties – nothing spectacular – but apparently he has a few identifying scars, one near his eye, and that was enough to match him to this captured security footage – the line to the Imperial data-box was cut but _not_ to our receiver..." The _Executor_ disappeared from sight before the projector pulled up another video.

Even though his face was entirely foreign, a solid chill ran through her. She wasn't sure if it was dread, or surprise, or something else entirely, but the blood in her veins flashed to ice, then to electric fire. The video was grainy enough for her to make out _something_ beyond just the dingy alleyway, and what was going on there. A man – solidly built, yes, but stumbling as if woozy and dizzied – dashed in, found himself caught in the dead end. Her own gut physical reaction made slightly more sense to herself as he pulled out a lightsaber, the dull red barely visible in the poor quality recording. There was something damnably familiar about every stroke, the lazy sort of finesse that seemed as effortless as it was deadly as he deflected each blaster bolt from the incoming stormtroopers.

"So that's our operative," she said, half to herself. But the bothan nodded enthusiastically.

"There's just enough to run an analysis – the identifying scar on the eye matches, at least. But this -" He took a deep breath as if to help keep himself calm. "_This_ is the analysis that has been running for the last three days, Senator."

"This is what you called me here for?" Her voice was as politely peevish as she would allow, trying to get him to hurry up and get to the point.

"Yes, yes, exactly! - It's enough data to run a kinetics analysis, and cross-reference that with those already in the database... standard procedure, when we can, to do them on formidable enemies so that typical behaviors can be accounted for in strategy." This time he actually seemed to catch Leia's calm glare, and get the point to hurry up. "Ah – yes, well – the analysis finished, and the match it's brought up is a kinetics analysis done on recovered security tapes at the battle of Hoth..."

A second hologram flashed onto screen, blue next to green. The quality of the tape was better, this time, thanks only to whichever unlucky operative had been sent to dig them out of the snow-covered rubble after the Empire had gone. But it was obviously from the moments before the very last soldiers made their way out in the evacuation. An explosion, the small camera rocked even on its mount, and a terrifyingly familiar figure strode through the rubble, all shining black armor and billowing cape – Darth Vader. Her throat constricted a little more when she realized why this tape had been recovered: beyond the tape's view was a barricade where the last few soldiers were holding out, Mon Mothma's son among them.

Vader reached for his lightsaber, and the other hologram began to play.

It was the same flourish, the same confidently easy stance. It was the same easy sweeps to bat away the blaster bolts. Even if the man in the alleyway held himself differently, dizzied and unsure, his body seemed to know better than the rest of him. It was a natural, deadly grace, one and the same.

Fortunately, the bothan was happy to talk even when she found she could not.

"The analysis only puts it at a fifty-three percent match, but constructing models based off of the holovids instead of directly comparing the holovids themselves ups this to an eighty-seven percent match... a chroma analysis of the lightsaber blade color, when corrected, puts the vid from two months ago as 3% more blue, well within the regular limits of error. Handwriting samples have been harder to place so little analysis has been done. But I suppose what I'm really attempting to say is..."

"It's a conclusive match," Leia summarized, her voice nearly lost in a sigh as she had to remind herself to stop holding her breath.

"Yes – yes, that's it exactly." He gulped softly. "It's very... it's important news. It will be up to Mon Mothma what to do with the information, of course, but the statistics are so significant..." He slowly talked himself into silence, looking a little worried, peering at Leia and waiting to see any more reaction from her.

But her expression of calm was one she had been practicing as long as she could remember, and it was useful to wear it as she tried to clear her throat and stop her dizzy thoughts from spinning harder. "Thank you, Gael. This is very... exciting and important news. I expect that General Cracken will want to be awoken to hear it." She cleared her throat again.

"Until then, I'd like a copy of the analyses for myself. And tell General Cracken, when he's here, to contact me. I would," she said slowly, making the bothan's eyes widen in surprise, "very much appreciate his guidance on my upcoming trip to Coruscant."

"Coruscant? But – Senator! You're not an agent," he almost laughed, more nervous than finding humor in the situation. "Besides, you have a diplomatic talk scheduled – not a trip to Coruscant -"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

That time, he didn't argue.


	14. Down Like Rhinestones From The Sky

Leia was already looking forward to dyeing her hair back to its regular shade when she finally stepped out onto Coruscant. The red shade was a little obvious, despite carefully making sure her eyebrows and eyelashes matched, but it was enough to give any Imperial pause. The prosthetic nose helped too, or at least she hoped. It was good enough, for right now, for where she was going.

There were fewer and fewer cameras as she took stairs down, away from Republica 500 looming on the skyline. It was dizzying and disorienting – she only knew a little of Coruscant, only in the spires where the Senatorial elite lived comfortably. But the lower city called to her. It was safer, anyhow, in a way. There was at least a chance that a swoop gang or drug lord could be sympathetic if she was recognized.

As she stepped into the elevator, shoulder to shoulder with a crowd heading home from work, the collective exhaustion around her made her shoulders slump. But she looked up, tucking her hands in the pockets of the ratty old coat she had borrowed to complete her costume, and sighed. Han would be furious with her when she got back. Mon Mothma would be furious, too, as much as Leia suspected the serene older woman _ever_ became angry – well, perhaps not furious. It would be worse if they weren't angry, but instead just smothered her with worry so that she was crushed under the weight of her own guilt.

Don't think about that, she reminded herself. This was more important than anyone could ever understand. Perhaps Luke, someday, but –

The open-air elevator groaned before dropping in almost a free fall, her hair pulled up around her face by the wind. Republica 500 gleamed, catching the light, before finally disappearing along with most of the sky, swallowed by dirty-looking buildings with garish neon displays. And the elevator continued to go down…

"Thought you should know someone's been looking for you, old man."

He glanced up over the mug of ale, trying to keep his face impassive. "Is that so, Vadis?"

"Yeah," the boy drawled, flopping in across from him and giving a wide, toothy grin. "I don't normally disclose such information but, you know, I'd rather not see my aunt get caught in a shootout, so if this is some bounty hunter after you, try not to get shot around her, eh?"

A very slight smile played over his face. "Your concern is touching."

"Sure thing, Naberrie. I'll point her out to you, even. Have another ale and stick around, she was eager to meet you." Selian grinned even as he got up, going back to his usual perch in the dingy bar.

He wasn't stupid enough to order another ale. But he did watch quietly as Vadis waved a confused-looking redhead over to him. She was too clean and held herself too upright, walking with a self-assured confidence even as she was obviously uncomfortable with the surroundings. Something was familiar – very much so – but he couldn't place it, not yet. It was dangerous to reach out with the Force so, but he was at least reasonably sure she wasn't Mara Jade… after all, the red hair color was too garish and obvious.

He closed his eyes, taking the last sip of his ale, reaching out with the Force. Almost immediately, as something recognizable rang true, his eyes snapped open. Surely it wasn't – surely she wouldn't be that foolish, it couldn't be –

No, she was sitting straight in her seat, just the way a Senator would. A Princess to the last despite all that remained of her people was space debris and rubble. A shining gem even in the dirt-covered setting, still gleaming – still attracting undue attention.

By the time Selian Vadis finally turned in his seat to try and point out the widower Naberrie to her, he was gone out the back door, not even leaving enough credits to pay for his drink.

"- and he usually sticks around for awhile. Dunno what's up with him, but he'll be back tomorrow, same time more or less." Selian Vadis yawned lightly and gave Leia a shrug. "I even told him to stay."

A small, frustrated sigh escaped her, and the young man looked hurt before she gave him a smile. "Thank you anyway. I'll be back tomorrow. Oh –" It was forced, but it was at least something to give the patrons of the bar something to talk about other than how much she stood out: she leaned over and planted a kiss on Selian's lips. His eyes widened in shock even as she gave him a wink and walked out of the bar. The rising buzz of amused conversation carried her out in a wave, riding the crest as she stepped out into the grimy city street. There was no need to go back to the freighter, not so soon. She had an address and that was enough for a start –

Three steps away from the door and someone grabbed her wrist tightly. Instinctively she twisted away, but the infuriated scream died in her throat.

"Keep walking, Princess," a low and somewhat familiar voice growled out behind her.

"Let go of me."

"No."

"I said _let go of me_."

She wasn't sure why her voice wouldn't raise above a whisper, or why her blood had gone to ice. She wasn't even sure who he was – just someone who knew her, and who dredged up some instinctive fear that normally she was so good at pushing away.

"I can't do that, Princess."

"I'll scream." It was grasping weakly at whatever threat she could. His hand, gloved and solid, was nearly crushing her wrist.

"Neither of us want Imperial peacekeepers taking too much of an interest in us. Now _keep walking_." The last two words were slippery in a way that she couldn't quite place, and her feet were moving before she was aware what was happening. It was dizzying, and she was being dragged forward, stumbling through the crowd. Now all she could see was his back – in a cheap poncho, hood pulled up – broad shoulders, gloved hands. As soon as she tried to step forward to catch his face, he pulled away.

With a frustrated half-growl, she tried to pull out of his grip again. "Let _go_ –"

"_No._" If anything, his grip on her wrist became tighter, and she sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. "You're going to be off of this planet in two hours."

"How dare you order me around like –"

"Like a soldier of the Alliance?" His voice was pointedly low enough not to be heard, a reminder to keep hers down as well even as she grew indignant. "Because you _are_ one. I am only going to say this _once_, so please pay attention."

She snorted in anger as she stumbled, venom already on her lips as she readied a stinging insult in reply. But she was smoothly interrupted as he dragged her down a set of stairs.

"If you die, the Alliance dies with you. Skywalker's absence is almost enough to crush it. Without Skywalker _or you_, the Alliance will be without heart _or_ soul. You cannot take foolish risks like this."

"This isn't foolish –"

"Yes it is."

"This is _important_ –"

"Yes it is. Something can both be foolish and important. But you are not only endangering _yourself_, you are –"

"You there!" The drawling yell made her flinch, but his hand didn't move away from her wrist, even as a sour-faced Imperial officer flanked by five stormtroopers walked over to them. From the looks of it, the officer was having a bad day, and was looking forward to sharing the misery. "Is there some sort of problem, here?"

It was such a sudden movement that she nearly shrieked, but he pulled her closer and locked an arm around her in a bad parody of a friendly embrace. "No problem at all, officer. Just having a bit of a disagreement with my daughter. That's all."

Icy fear was almost paralyzing – surely he didn't know, surely he couldn't, not now, not yet – but Leia knew the ruse was a good one. Yes – play along – she gritted her teeth and put on her best smile, a nervous wheezy laugh half-squeezed out of her by his crushing grip.

"A disagreement?" The officer looked between them peevishly. "What about?"

"Her terrible sense of fashion," he said placidly. This actually made her jaw drop a little, her head whipping around to glare at him – or what little she could see underneath the hood, now, the neatly trimmed beard distinctive and peppered with grey.

"Now that you say it, that red does look awful," the officer said snidely. She could feel the color rising in her cheeks but she bit her tongue, choking back the anger. "I'll need to see your identification and your passes, please."

"You don't need to see those."

The officer's face went slightly slack. "I don't need to see your identification and your passes."

"You'll let us be on our way."

"I'll let you be on your way," he murmured dazedly before giving a cough and straightening his uniform. "Right. Of course. Be on your way, I don't want more miscreants lollygagging around this sector." He nodded a little to himself before motioning to the troopers, setting off in a self-assure swagger. To Leia's mild amazement, he didn't even glance back – and neither did any of the stormtroopers.

The small hovering droid following them, however, only moved on after getting a clear photograph of her face.


	15. Eyes Like Factories Far Away

And his hand was at her wrist, vice-like, dragging her along. Leia gave a huff as she tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of his grip before finally giving up and marching along behind him. "You can at least tell me where we're going!"

"Somewhere you'll be safe."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," she spat back. With a frustrated grunt, she finally dug her heels into the ground so that he had to drag her along by inches. "I'm not going _anywhere_ until you answer a few questions."

A long sigh rolled out of him, but he didn't turn around to face her. "Fine," he finally bit out.

"And not just a few, but all I can think to ask. And I expect truthful answers."

"Fine. _Fine_. Of course. We need to _keep moving_, Princess."

She couldn't help but smile, enjoying the minor victory, before falling back in line to walk beside him instead of behind him. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his profile, although he tried to keep the hood pulled up tightly. He was almost handsome, a thought that disgusted her more than she would have liked to admit. There was still a disconnect in her mind between her father and Vader, and it would be a long time before she could reconcile it. Besides, she told herself, she obviously took after her mother. …whoever her mother even was.

"What's your name? Your _real_ name," she said after a long moment of thought, as much a demand as a question.

He didn't answer, instead continuing to drag her along, ducking quickly into a narrow alleyway.

"I asked you a question." Her eyebrows knit in frustration. "I thought we had an understanding –"

"Yes, I'll answer any question you like." She opened her mouth to argue before he cut her off. "But I also assumed, like a _reasonable adult_, you would like this little interrogation to occur when we are in some place of relative safety."

"That is _not_ what I meant –"

"It is what is going to happen, Princess," he said flatly, dragging her down another twisting corridor. The steam rising up from the city was rank and she wrinkled her nose as he seemed to lead her into the heart of it, the shanty-towns obscuring many years of building and rebuilding.

"You could at _least_ tell me where we're going."

"The Works. It's the closest you can get to a hiding place on Coruscant, and I presume that your ship is somewhere within it – or if you seem to want to prove to me that you have no common sense –"

"_What_ did you just –"

"- and your ship is elsewhere, it is at least a place where you can sufficiently disappear so that you can leave Coruscant as soon as possible." He let go of her wrist to move aside a piece of metal that looked like it used to be a sign, exposing the relatively fresh metal underneath. It was a door with a complex looking security system – and she could see the old Republic symbol, underneath the patina of grime.

The computer's voice chirped out something garbled beyond understanding, but he seemed to know what it was asking, quickly punching in a code onto the keypad. After a few moments of thought, the voice rang out again, slightly less incoherent than before. "Override… -ceppt- … Pl - …forwa- …corneal sc…" The rest was lost to static, but he leaned in almost obediently to let the scanner focus on his retina, unflinchingly staring into the light.

She noticed that his eyes were blue, and for some reason this deeply unnerved her.

"Welc… An… Skywal-" The rest of the mangled announcement was lost as he brought a hand down to slam against the keypad of electronics. A few stray sparks jumped from the broken machinery, and Leia flinched, glaring at him, though not demanding an explanation – not yet, anyway. The doorway connected to the panel had only opened halfway, and he struggled to get it open just enough to where they could slip through. "Ladies first," he finally said slyly, glancing at her.

"No thank you," she said quickly, though just as bitterly, leaving him to shrug and awkwardly shimmy through. The tunnel was dark, though apparently well-made, and it suddenly seemed to click in her mind where they were. "These are… the old senatorial evacuation tunnels? I thought they were demolished years ago –"

"Not all of them." They both winced as they hit the standing water at the bottom of the tunnel. "This will get you to the Works, or at least closer to it." Seemingly ancient machinery groaned as she stepped up onto a platform, fumbling before she finally found a pole to grab onto.

"You still haven't answered any of my questions." She was less demanding, now, the heat of the moment finally fading to leave the real danger there.

"We'll meet again, Princess," he said quickly.

Her mouth was still open to reply as his hand found a panel off to the side, and the machinery lurched to life, sending her speeding down the barebones subway towards the Works.

_Author's note: I apologize for the shortness of this chapter! I hope to get much more writing done over Thanksgiving break._


	16. Between Reynard and Ysengrin

Neither of them slept that night.

In his case, it was because there was a small group of stormtroopers to deal with. Each was entombed in a different garbage chute, so that when the bones and ID-tags were finally found months later after being crushed and consumed by flame, it would seem like just another random killing. Maybe a slythmonger or pimp would be arrested under the suspicion of killing one of the Empire's fine soldiers, even though everyone knew that a soldier down that low brought it upon himself. The further away from the glittering skyways you were, the less sway even the Emperor held.

It was Leia who consciously dodged the nervous crew of the freighter that had brought her there. She waited until they were asleep to sneak out of what was her cabin, grabbing a cup of acrid and bitter instant stimcaf. She was not in the mood to try and sweeten it with sugar, just as she was not in the mood to consider going out there again anything less than life-threatening. But she was more like her father than she realized, and the incessant doubt burned in the back of all of her thoughts. Without realizing it or not, her decision had already been made. She would know, or she would die trying.

The artificial lights never dimmed, but it was somewhere before morning when she was out on the streets again. A charming smile and a polite, softened demeanor got her into the bar, then to speak to her contact again, and then to be introduced to his mother, the landlady. "…and this is Naberrie's daughter, Mom," Selian chattered, guiding her into the miserably small kitchen as the older woman tried to look dignified while mostly asleep and trying to cook breakfast.

"Niece. I'm his niece," she corrected quickly, trying desperately to not be related to him in kneejerk reaction. "…But he's, ah – he's always been like a father to me." She smiled sweetly and clasped her hands in front of her, the very picture of awkward farmgirl sweetness.

"Oh, that's wonderful," the old woman cooed. "Makes sense. His wife died quite young, didn't she? Seems that way. Selian told me you couldn't find him at all yesterday, such a shame."

"I was hoping to surprise him this morning, if that's all right?"

"Of course, of course! He'll be so happy to see you, I'm sure. He works so hard…"

The younger man exchanged glances with her before he stepped forward with a bright smile. "Let's go out to breakfast, Mom. I'll pay."

"Really, dear? Are you sure? It's so expensive –"

"It's all right, Mrs. Vadis," Leia said kindly. "I've given Selian some money so it's my treat. You two have been so helpful, and I know you've been looking after my uncle. I can't thank you enough."

It was perhaps overdone, but it at least got them out and away, even though the man paused to whisper to her with a fixed smile before they went. "Try not to burn down the whole house? It's the only one she's got."

"No promises," she replied cheerfully with an equally forced grin. And when she closed the door behind them, she made sure that her blaster was in her hand.

For a few moments the small building sat in silence as she pressed her back to the wall, inching closer to the door that apparently was the rented bedroom. It took a few deep breaths, nostrils flaring, for her to work up the nerve to turn and kick the door open in one surprisingly swift and practiced move.

And then there was silence again.

It was such normal disarray that she was caught completely off-guard. A dubiously rigged together datapad entry system, piles of spare bits of machinery that had been picked up like a magpie gathering flotsam – no real purpose other than it might be useful. At least the floor was clear, save for the worn mattress, sitting on the floor without boxsprings or frame. And the man laying there was completely unrecognizable: broad shoulders, lightly scarred; a leonine mane of hair, greying and wavy; shirtless, half the covers kicked off the bed in a fitful attempt to sleep.

He stared for a moment at his pillow, letting her assume he was asleep, as she re-adjusted her aim. A long sigh rolled out of him. "If you're going to shoot, aim for my head, please, since I assume you actually would like to kill me."

She set her jaw more firmly. "Get up."

Slowly, he lifted his upper body up to look back at her. It was a demanding gaze, his face half hidden by his hair. "Go ahead and shoot, Princess."

"I said _get up_." Her voice trembled, and she cursed herself for it, gritting her teeth harder.

His eyebrows knit a moment in confusion. "Sithspit. You actually think you're going to take me prisoner." He finally declared, tone flat with exasperation.

"I _am_ going to take you prisoner. What part of _get up_ do you not understand?"

"What you are going to do is get both of us killed. _Worse_ than killed –" He was up, flinging on a shirt and still somehow managing to look furiously dignified – "all because you are incredibly selfish –" He was harder to track with the blaster, now, moving so quickly – "and foolish beyond _belief_ –" She flinched at the sound of a lightsaber in familiar red lashing out, cutting through the pile of electronics. It sparked and hissed, reduced to a pile of scrap, the data within destroyed beyond repair.

"I came because I have questions that need answering," she interrupted hotly. "And I intend to see that you will _answer them_ –"

"No, what you're intending to do is commit suicide out of some egotistical selfishness," he snapped back, anger working its way into his voice. "And what I am going to do is get us both out of here so that you can go slit your wrists with some scrap of proper decorum, _Princess__**.**_"

His eyes finally met hers, and she drew in a quick breath. For the first time in what seemed like her entire life, Leia Organa was not just frightened, she was terrified. The ice-blue of his eyes seemed to be more chilling than even Hoth. And his hand was at her wrist, dragging her out, though immediately in reply she rammed the end of the blaster hard against him, a physical reminder that one twitch of her trigger finger and he would be dead.

"You are him, aren't you," she breathed.

"Who? The Widower Naberrie? The fool who has to save your sorry corpse because you don't give a damn? Why, yes."

"Don't you dare –"

"I'm not the one breaking our agreement."

"We never had an agreement!"

"We most certainly _did_." He was walking faster, now, darting through the alleys now that they were out of the small building. "I'm not a junior senator you can fool with simple politician's tricks, though I know that's all you _have_." The tone of his voice made his loathing of politics quite clear. In return, she jutted the end of the blaster into him hard enough to make him give a grunt of discomfort. "In case you've forgotten, it's not dying first, questions second."

"I'm not afraid to die."

He glanced back at her again. "I _am_."

She paused at this – it was shocking in a way she couldn't quite understand – but a scream from a nearby alleyway made them both flinch. The voice was familiar, though slurring and hysterical. "I don't know anything! I don't know _anything!_ You didn't have to shoot her – please! I don't know – "

"Vadis," he murmured, almost to himself, before shaking his head. "We don't have time –"

She raised the blaster pointedly. "There's time. We're helping him."

He turned to glare at her more pointedly this time, and she set her jaw and peered back at him defiantly. With an almost animal-like snort, he finally turned, walking briskly and then starting to run towards the source of the screams. The worst had already happened: the old woman was slumped on the ground, likely stunned but not dead, and four stormtroopers were gathered around with an officer. Two of them were holding the young man, Selian Vadis, up. "You'll tell us where she is, boy –"

"I told you," he bleated out, "I don't know anything!"

His answer earned him another hard slap across the face with the butt of a stormtrooper's rifle. Such behavior would not be tolerated in the upper spires of the city, but here it was commonplace: the miserable underlings only understood the most basic of punishments, blood and pain instead of strong words or citations.

And Leia watched them both carefully, following along behind the older man, but never fixing her blaster elsewhere. His head remained firmly in the sight, even as he crouched, starting to sneak forward. The Imperial officer was engrossed in the makeshift interrogation, screaming in Selian's face. None of them saw the older man until it was far too late – one of the stormtrooper's blasters snapped to his hand of its own accord, and a few quick shots later, all of the Imperial troops were down. Selian swayed, blood pouring from his nose as he untangled himself from the stormtroopers who had been holding him.

"Naberrie?" His tone was one of dazed shock as he tried to paw away the blood from his nose.

The older man didn't smile, but instead simply offered out the blaster for Selian to take. "The next transport out of Coruscant needs to have you on it."

"Yessir," Selian spluttered, still not quite aware of why the man he had only known as a reclusive widower suddenly deserved such a title, or how he had suddenly become such a supernaturally good fighter.

He turned back, and Leia did not bring her blaster down, keeping it trained on him. A small derisive snort made its way out of his nose, but otherwise he almost didn't seem to notice. They darted back into the maze of alleyways as the dawn light started to filter down to them, turning the skyscrapers golden-red, silent as she pressed the blaster into the small of his back and he pressed forward through the gathering crowds.


	17. Prince of Cats

No, he reminded himself, he couldn't politely knock her out with a blow to the back of the head. And he couldn't gag her, either, or bind her to make this slightly easier. They were trying to not attract suspicion, and an old man carrying a young woman over his shoulder was the most suspicious thing he could currently think of. But damned if she wasn't making it hard to resist temptation.

Behind her, she gave another cursory glance to the building behind them before returning to stare at the back of his head as he worked. "The fact that you know how to hotwire an airspeeder just makes me more sure that you're nothing more than a common criminal who happened to get lucky," Leia grumbled.

"That was weak, even for you, _Princess_."

It was true, she realized now that she was just digging for insults for the sake of insulting him. Immature, yes, but it still felt good. "You still haven't explained why we stopped at _this_ house for you to do this. It's not exactly out of the way."

"Local slythmonger's," he replied tersely before half diving back into the guts of the machine, holding a stray wire between his teeth.

Her expression dropped to one of true disgust. "If you're looking for a fix before we get out of here -"

He gave an irritated snort, drawing away after one last splice and slamming the hood of the old airspeeder down. "_Common sense._ If he's dealing, his airspeeder is likely good enough to outrun patrols, and it's certainly unlocked to fly outside normal skylanes. Unless you'd like to do this by public transport, of course."

"No, thank you," Leia said acidly, still keeping the blaster trained on him even as she moved around to take the passenger-side seat. But she hesitated as he leaned in, fiddling with the controls for a moment - the engine gave a wheezing clatter and ground to a halt. Eyes narrowing, he paused to give the airspeeder a sharp kick before the machine finally spluttered to life. And suddenly, public transport seemed like less of a bad idea after all.

"What _amazing_ mechanical prowess."

"You're very welcome, Princess."

The aging repulsorlifts kicked in with a groan, and a dazed-looking young man stumbled out of the nearby shambles of a house. "What - _Naberrie?_ You sonnova -!" They didn't stick around to hear the rest of the slythmonger's string of invectives, rising into the sky and slipping into a stream of Coruscant traffic.

"Head for the Works!" Leia called out, even as she kept her blaster trained on him. "Northwest Transtech district."

Somewhat to her surprise, he immediately changed course, the airspeeder heading in the correct direction. The idea that perhaps they really were working together made both of them uncomfortable, though Leia had to admit that she seemed to be having slightly more problems than he did. And he actually looked at home piloting the decrepit old airspeeder.

"Put your blaster away," he growled, looking at her out of the corner of his eye for only a moment.

"I'm sure that as soon as I do, I'll regret it."

"Put it _away_ before surveillance cameras flag us as a speederjacking in progress -" They both caught a glance of the flashing red and blue lights behind them. Coruscant Security, of course, but just one lone operative on a speeder. "Never mind," he said with a sigh. "I'd suggest putting on your seatbelt."

Leia fumbled to hold the blaster steady as she clawed for the seatbelt. "It's broke-_aaaaugh!_"

Despite the sudden plunge, she managed to keep him in the blaster's sights, even as she clawed at the seat and was quietly thankful that the old airspeeder's grav-barriers were still in working order. As they dove into the Works proper, they accumulated several more Coruscant Security speeders - another block and two police airspeeders had joined the chase, sirens wailing. And there would only be more.

He took a moment to pinch at his nose as if warding off a headache before taking his hands completely off of the controls, making Leia scramble and flinch.

"_What are you -_"

"Hold it level, I'll be back in a moment," he said with grumbling nonchalance before turning around to scramble out of the seat onto the back of the airspeeder itself. As she slid over one seat, she tried to keep the blaster on him with one hand and steer with the other; the speeder rocked violently, and he nearly lost his footing. "I said _level!_" He snapped. He was actually something other than cool and collected in battle, and much to her disappointment, it was not nearly as satisfying as Leia had hoped.

But as the first blaster bolts came from the pursuing security forces, any last doubts she had evaporated. An eerily familiar crimson lightsaber lashed out, defecting the bolts in a smooth arc. He was Vader, now, she was sure of it. Then there was the thrum of another lightsaber -

There was no time to turn and look, but she felt the airspeeder shift as he jumped off of it. There was a blaze of light in the mirrors as one of the speeders crashed into a nearby factory building. A moment more and the police speeder swerved violently before its rudimentary blasters fired wildly off target, into a pipeline of something apparently highly flammable. The narrow corridor exploded into flame, and she bit her lip to keep from shrieking. A moment more and there was a thunk as he landed again on the back of the airspeeder, shedding the low-quality poncho nonchalantly even though it was smoldering and patting out a bit of fire that had begun to run along his sleeve.

"Bought us some time. Now move over."

She was only too happy to do so, as it meant picking up the blaster and pointing it at him again. It was also a chance to look back at the mayhem they had left behind - easily a third of the large foundry was ablaze, now. She was genuinely impressed, even if only for a moment before she remembered to be angry with him. The foundry was Imperial property, and the Rebellion couldn't have scored a better blow if they had actually planned it all...

...but lights and sirens were already descending again.

"I thought you said you bought us time!"

"I didn't say very _much_ time!" He snapped back.

Gritting her teeth, she looked at where they were. "We're not far, there's a dock next to the abandoned warehouse two blocks over to the north past that intersection -"

"Good," he said tersely. After a long moment of hesitation she turned away from him to fire a few shots at the swarm of Coruscant Security vehicles that were following them; one speeder was a minor victory but a victory nonetheless.

"Get down."

She stared at him suspiciously. "What?"

"I said _get down_."

They had swerved off of the main route, now, and were speeding towards what appeared to be two buildings. And as the airspeeder started to turn, she suddenly realized what he was doing. "Oh, no. No, there's not enough -"

"_I said GET DOWN!_"

He reached out and forced her to duck as he did much the same. The airspeeder entered the narrow gap between the buildings vertically, and transparisteel sparks flew above them. There was the sound of several speeders hitting the buildings, unable to pull up in time. Leia was much more concerned with the sound of shearing metal directly above her head. The airspeeder was just slim enough to fit - minus the windscreen.

So when they exited the small alley and righted to horizontal once more, Leia immediately popped up, her voice starting to go shrill in panic. "_WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!_"

"We're fine!" He shouted above the wind. "We didn't really need a windscreen, anyway!"

Immediately his mouth drew into a tight, flat frown as he realized only Anakin Skywalker would say something so atrociously stupid.

Leia's reply, likely laced with unladylike invective, was almost completely lost to the wind. But he was able to at least follow where she was pointing, and the airspeeder swooped down into the abandoned warehouse, gliding through to the docks where a perfectly innocuous-looking freighter sat. Both of them barely waited for the airspeeder to stop moving before leaping out of it and scrambling to board the ship. Already there was the sound of more sirens closing in.

The rebel pilot - a slightly plump older man - pressed himself against the side of the corridor as they came in. "Princess Organa, I didn't expect -"

"Where's the comm?" Vader interrupted.

"It's tied to secured channels, I'm not sure -"

"_Where's the comm?_"

"Bridge, second panel to the left!" He pointed, and immediately Vader was off running.

"I'll explain later!" Leia tried to soothe, following and half dragging the pilot with her. "Right now we need to get out of here! As quickly as possible!"

He nodded flusteredly, and they could hear the conversation already going on in the cockpit. "Extension Alpha-five-nine, access password _vremen_ -" A calm, official-sounding voice begun to answer, but he cut it off. "Call off _all_ pursuing squads in Works sector four-seven. This has been an Imperial preparedness test and Coruscant Security has failed. _Miserably._"

"By what authority do you -"

"Authorization code nine-nine-twenty-three prime. You'll have my full report from my supervisor by tomorrow. I suggest you begin implementing solutions _immediately_ before my superiors hear of this, so that you might have some slim chance of keeping your job."

There was a small squeak from the other end of the line. "Of - of course, sir, I'll immediately -"

He punched the comm line off with his thumb. Leia finally remembered why her blaster was in her hand and raised it again, aiming at him even as the pilot scrambled to his chair.

"I suggest," he said calmly, "that we make sure we are gone when they realize that authorization code was from an agent who died two years ago."


	18. The Man Who Sold The World

It wasn't a true imprisonment as much as it was a tacit agreement between captor and captive. The small cargo room was locked from the outside, it was true, but still easy enough to slip past the lock, just as how a bantha of average size could easily crash through the usual fences if it wanted to. And although he seemed content to remain there, it made Leia distinctly nervous.

She knew better than to assume Vader could be so easily domesticated.

Passive-aggressively, she made sure to have other priorities as soon as they were safely in hyperspace. A shower, a quick nap, another cup of strong stimcaf. He could rot in that cabinet until she was damn ready to deal with him. That, of course, meant that she took the time to let her hair air-dry while she put on a bit of makeup simply for her own pleasure, and only for her own pleasure, and in no way to try and impress him. It was incredibly petty and Leia was aware of the vague sensation that she should perhaps feel guilty for treating him in such a way. But ultimately she wasn't bothered by it. After all, he was locked in there with a supply of water and a few nutrition bars (the 'crunchy prawn' flavor she hated, but still nutrition bars nonetheless). That was more than he had done for _her_.

What did bother Leia was the fact that he didn't seem to mind.

She had hoped for him to be pacing in tiny circles like an anxious dog when she slid open the door, but instead he was sitting on the floor with stoic calm. Meditating, perhaps. Or asleep. She couldn't quite tell.

"Vader."

He didn't even answer her properly: he opened his eyes and looked up at her, raising one eyebrow.

It was tempting to continue to loom over him, but she did crouch down to look him in the eye. This question was too important for anything less. "I hope you remember our _deal_."

He nodded, meeting her gaze. "I do. So, ask."

Leia took a full breath before asking her question, making sure each word was clear. "What are you to Luke Skywalker?"

And his jaw clenched.

It was just as polite a barrier as the doorway she had just come through. She knew the answer. And he knew that she was just looking for confirmation. But to acknowledge it as such would be to drag the issue out into the open. It would make a mess of things. It would be a terrible faux pas. And it would make Leia actually acknowledge it as _truth_, which would be even more terrible.

"You know I can't answer that, Princess." Finally his voice was a bit deeper with irritation and distress. Leia shamelessly took a small amount of glee in this and made a mental note to feel bad about it later.

"We had an _agreement_," she hissed.

"That question is not mine to answer," he bit out through clenched teeth.

"So you'll betray the Empire every way you can, but you won't answer this one simple question?"

His eyes narrowed. This time she actually felt a little guilty as he glared. The two weren't equivalent, and they both knew it.

"I _can_ tell you that while I cannot answer that question," he said slowly, picking his words as carefully as a climber struggling to find a firm foothold on a chalky cliff, "my intention is to make sure Luke will be able to tell you himself."

And she wondered why she hadn't noticed the calmer blue that his eyes were. Maybe it was a trick of the light, she told herself. Just like how he referred to Luke as - well - _Luke_, as if he were as close to him as she was. Just a slip of the tongue. Just coincidences she refused to acknowledge.

"Fine," she said softly, though in genuine agreement.

Hours later, the entire base was abuzz with anxiousness. Like most supposedly classified information, immediately as someone was informed that _Vader_ had been taken prisoner, suddenly _everyone_ knew. Personally, Han Solo blamed Artoo and Threepio. Well, mostly Threepio. It was likely force of habit, but everyone had been talking about it, and the droid certainly was no exception to the rule.

There was an odd mixture of emotions in the error. Terror, of course, was natural. The Alliance was about to drag a krayt dragon into their humble home. Disaster didn't just seem possible, it seemed inevitable. But there was also a vicious sort of joy as the crowd gathered prematurely in the hangar bay. They wanted to see the bastard who killed their uncle, destroyed their home, led the Empire. It would just be even better if they could see him try to rise up against the Alliance's might and get killed in the process. If that happened, Han was fairly certain that the entire base would quickly devolve into hysterically happy partying.

And that was why he was carrying a bottle of rum in his pack, because it always paid to be prepared.

It seemed like the entire base was packed into the hangar bay, despite protests and threats from the few trying to keep order. The morbid curiosity of what was behind Vader's iconic mask was enough to draw even the most terrified soldiers, after all. Eventually it had been decided that strength in numbers was the plan, and as the old freighter landed, immediately it was surrounded by soldiers in armor, blasters raised.

The crowd wasn't disappointed as the first figures came down the boarding ramp.

Leia was still recognizable, despite the red hair color that still didn't suit her in the least (though fortunately it had washed out somewhat and wasn't quite as obnoxious as before). Blaster pressed to his back, there was little doubt who she was leading out in front of her. The lines of soldiers raised their blasters, poised to shoot.

But a murmur of shock ran through the crowd, even as Han pressed his way through to Leia. The man wasn't how they imagined Vader. He looked old, tired, innocuous - like someone's father, even... and he didn't struggle even as two officers roughly pulled his hands behind him to bind them tightly. But as he raised his head to look coolly at the crowd, there was a certain arrogance there... yes, he was Vader, he had to be, despite the rough clothing and messy hair.

Han pushed his way through the crowd just in time to catch a bit of Leia's voice as she spoke to the officers. "His weapons have already been confiscated -"

"Yes, I have them here -" The captain of the freighter nervously fumbled out two smooth cylinders, handing them over to one of the officials. Vader glanced down for a moment but maintained his dignified silence.

"Wait. _Wait._" Han didn't have the patience to be polite, instead reaching out and snatching up one of the lightsabers. "This..."

Leia recognized it only a minute before Han said it, muttering a soft curse underneath her breath for not remembering earlier.

"This is _Luke's_ lightsaber. _Why the hell do you have his lightsaber?_"

The murmurs of the crowd died down around them. Without realizing it, Leia held her breath. It took Vader a long moment to raise his head to actually look at Han, shaking his head a little to try and get the hair out of his eyes. And then he said quite possibly the worst thing he could have.

"He wanted me to have it -"

Whatever explanation was left got cut off as Han's fist neatly made contact with Vader's jaw. It was a solid punch, enough to make the older man stagger back. Even as more Alliance officers dove into the fray, dragging Han back before the fight could get any bigger, Vader blinked rapidly in surprise.

A small amount of blood trickled from his nose, landing on the floor even as Han spat out more insults, Leia tried not to look too upset, and the officers tried to get him away before the crowd's attitude became more violent. Fortunately, the pittance of blood seemed to be enough.

And they led him out, his shoulders straight but his head bowed: not defeated, merely captured.


	19. Ad Extirpanda

((Hi there! Really quick author's note…

First, thanks so much to everyone! I really appreciate your comments! : It means a lot to me to see that people enjoy reading what I write!

Second, I hope that soon I'll be able to update more regularly. My life is a bit crazy right now but writing is something I really enjoy. I often leave a lot of goodies for readers at the force dot net – where I also post this story – and I'll try to give y'all a FF.N-only chapter sometime, too!

Third, these are two quick chapters – they're rather short, sorry! That's why there are two little chapters instead of one big one. ^^ ))

"Yeah? Yeah? How do you like _that!_"

The wiry man bounced in front of him, too scared to land another punch. Delicately, Vader set his jaw back, grinding his teeth. He understood the impulse. He expected it. Perhaps the Rebellion officials, heads clouded with idealism, didn't think this would happen. He knew better. The world was a mean, dirty, cruel place; people were horrible; life was pain.

Perhaps a little overdramatic, but this certainly wasn't proving him wrong.

The Rebel soldier lashed out with another swift jab, but the swing was misplaced and didn't connect. "That - that was just practice!" He spat out. "You'll get yours. We're going to sell kriffing _tickets_. Whole damn ship will be lined up out here to come get a turn with you! Strung up like the kriffing animal you are!"

For a moment he opened his eye ever so slightly, giving the young man a serene glare, before closing his eyes again. He was willing to put up with this. He told himself that this was because he knew that the Rebellion's leaders would be furious with these actions. The tiny senator from Chandrila would surely half-explode in maternal rage. A stern lecture on how disappointed she was in them, maybe kitchen duty, but ultimately the Rebels couldn't sacrifice a soldier, even for this. But it would keep Mon Mothma up at night. It would taunt her with the ugly reality of morality.

He didn't want to admit that there was something deeply satisfying about the pain, or that he knew he deserved every punch.

"How do you like that? Yeah?" The young man taunted him. "Anything to say for yourself? _Anything?_ C'mon, I wanna hear it." A sharp slap. "_I wanna hear it!_"

Slowly, he opened his eyes, facing down the man properly.

"I wanna hear it," the soldier hissed.

Vader looked him in the eye and very slowly, very pointedly, yawned: tongue unfurling in a feline manner, thoroughly bored, thoroughly unimpressed.

The small explosion of invective was nothing new.

"Howzzit goin' back there?"

He let the conversation flow around him, keeping calm - a rock jutting out of the middle of a wide river.

"Mess of wires. Kriffing complicated. I don't know why you think I'm a damn medi-droid. At least he's not bleeding too bad."

"Don't bother with any bacta. If this bastard keels over of an infection, it'll serve him right."

"Not bothering with local anesthetic, why the hell would I waste some bacta?"

The soldier behind him turned back another bit of flesh along his spine, and he gritted his teeth. The punches he could handle. But he was starting to get rather worried about what exactly was going on back there. All he knew is that one of the soldiers - a technician, perhaps - had examined him with surgical precision while he hung mid-air, safely secured by restraints. Initially he dismissed it. Not enough blood loss to make him woozy, even. But they were definitely searching for something specific, something that was part of the intricate prosthetics...

The technician tugged on a wire. His finger twitched.

"Stop being an idiot. That's not it."

"Maybe if you'd stop whining I'd be able to do something! Okay, fine, let's try this one..."

White fire arced up his back, the pain making him grit his teeth. His back stiffened, and his jaw clenched.

"Yeah - yeah! That's the one! That's it!"

What they had been planning suddenly became incredibly clear.

Their voices were lost in the hum of electronics and the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. He hurried to hold onto the calm but it was already gone, sliding away like sand beneath his feet as surf pounded at his shins. There was calm, there was calm - there was no calm, there was just the pain, artificial but part of him, all the nerves firing at once - just white fire, just lava searing everything again and again up in his mouth choking him covering over his head until he was gone -

He held out for as long as he could, but a small shuddering grunt grew to a roar until finally an echoing scream poured out of him like blood from a slit throat.


	20. Breadcrumbs

((These two characters are introduced more formally in the short story _Badger and Bread_. ^^ ))

Rain was pattering against the skylight, stew was on the stove, and Yanda was complaining again. Mirou smiled to herself. Between all of these things, all was right on Vjun. Almost right, anyway.

"...and it's so boring! Wish I could've gone on the expedition," the young Imperial officer sighed. "I know field training here isn't that exciting, but it's _something_. I don't care if they'll come back crying about how the acidic rain makes everything terrible and how they can't see the practical use of any of this."

"Cheer up, Yanda," the kiffar woman said, smiling. "The food's better here."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "Still... top of the class, you know? Top of the class! And where do they send me? To help baby-sit this empty castle. Absolutely useless. This place should be torn down or at least made into something useful."

Her back stiffened. "It's not useless. This is Lord Vader's residence."

"Yeah, okay, sure, it's a dead guy's castle," the young man drawled sarcastically. "That's not all that useful to the Empire."

"He's not dead until I have a body to see."

"What, that new monument on Coruscant not good enough?"

She gave him a smiling little grimace. "It's so tacky! You expect me to leave a wreath there?" She turned back to the stove, stirring the soup. "You know what I mean, Yanda. Dasje and I have been serving him for so long, it's not as if we can just stop..."

"Serving him or the Empire?" He shot back sarcastically. "It's a good thing you're such a good cook, Miss Mirou, otherwise I'd have to report you for being a traitor for talking like that." It wasn't a joke as much as it was a thinly veiled threat from a man desperate to prove himself as useful to his superiors.

But she laughed anyway. "Oh, nevermind. You know I'm not good with politics. ...Would you do me a favor and reach that spice mix up on the top shelf? Dasje put it up there for me, and I can't quite reach... the dessert needs another dash of it, I think."

"Anything for that trifle," the officer said enthusiastically. The tin was nearly out of his reach, but he stretched, turning his back on her. His fingertips brushed the container, pushing it back; he gave a grunt as he stretched -

- and then looked down at the blade she had just buried into his chest.

It was a well-placed blow with the long butcher knife. All he could make was a dull gurgle as he stumbled back, starting to slump to the ground.

"I'm sorry," she said kindly, guiding him down, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I am so sorry, Yanda. You shouldn't have pressed it. Tonight we were just going to ask you politely. You still had a way out..."

"Hhhngh," he wheezed, eyes wide, blood in his mouth.

"You should have waited," Mirou whispered, tenderly clutching his hand in both of hers as she crouched beside him. "I was making such a lovely poisoned trifle. You can't even taste the poison, and they say it's a good death. Just like going to sleep and never waking up."

He gave a final dull gasp before his face went slack and he was gone.

By the next day, his body was in the pile with all the rest. The training expedition had come back and been asked a question, politely, and when they answered unfortunately, Bast Castle's whole defenses were turned on them. Now the constant acidic rain had let up ever so slightly, enough for them to stand outside without protective gear. And the ore processing machine whirred to life, grinding and gnashing as they tossed another stormtrooper's body into its maw.

"You know," Dasje said pleasantly, "this works a lot better than I thought it would."

The ore processor spat out the mangled and minced remains. The clumsily rigged extension guided the former stormtrooper down a slope; each chunk made a satisfying 'plwip' as it hit the acidic river below.

"Mmm!" Mirou hummed, nodding enthusiastically.

For a long moment, the two servants watched the machine work.

"Dasje?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think we should be feeling, you know... a bit more guilty about this?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

The middle-aged man raised his head, staring into the middle distance as he considered this. From the casual attitude they both had, it seemed the question was already answered, but he pondered it nonetheless.

"I'm not sure," Dasje finally answered. "It never seemed to bother Lord Vader."

That answer was good enough for both of them.


	21. Music of the Spheres

Leia could still hear Mon Mothma's voice even through three closed doors. It would have been much better for everyone involved if she were outright yelling, but instead her voice was raised in damning maternal disappointment as she continued to dress down a few of the soldiers, reminding them how _completely unacceptable_their actions were. Hopefully Mon Mothma would be done by the time the Inner Council was to convene, even if the proper political parties were not yet assembled. It was an emergency the Rebels had never anticipated, so now they had to figure out what to do, like a dog having finally caught a car.

At least Han was there to give her a lopsided grin, though he stuffed something into his pocket rather quickly at seeing her expression, a momentary flicker of guilt skipping across his face. "So -"

"Were those tickets?" She eyed his pocket suspiciously. "The ones the two were selling, to use Vader as a punching bag?"

"Maybe," he admitted after a long moment.

With a smile, she let him know that she wasn't about to yell. And with a kiss, she told him that she would have, in fact, likely been delighted with the gift.

Half an hour later, the ship's main elevator slid silently upwards. Around the bacta patch underneath the tunic, the occasional bit of blood appeared, outlining a solid block along his spine. This time he was actually letting his head hang, looking down as he took deep breaths through his nose, steadying himself.

"If you wanted a day to rest, nobody would fault you," the Rebel guard said nervously, though rather obviously she merely wanted to dodge this particular guard duty.

"No. I'm fine."

The guard gave a nervous sigh, and he raised his head as the doors opened, bathing them both in almost clinical bright light. The ship's briefing room had been quickly converted into a makeshift assembly chamber. Now the display showed no maps of targets and the seats held not pilots but politicians. They sat in a row, and he could easily name every one: Mon Mothma, Ackbar, Crix Madine, M'yet Luure, and of course, Leia Organa. It was quite obvious who the spot on the floor belonged to, bright in spotlight. Much to the relief of the guards, he went there willingly, standing as straight as he could and looking them in the eye. It was not an act of defiance, but instead calm, cool, and calculated - even more aggravating than insubordination.

The members of the Inner Council exchanged momentary nervous glances. Mon Mothma was finally the one to speak. "This Council is convened to examine if this claim of defection is true. I assume you have a statement to make on the subject, um...?" There was a noticeable pause as she tried to find the correct name.

"Vader," he said tersely. "Even if perhaps I do not look the part, at the moment." It was a joke only he could laugh at, and to everyone else, a statement of fact. There was dried blood in his facial hair, and he was sporting a large black eye by now, not to mention the small bacta patches for the cracked cheekbone and broken nose. That was ignoring the blood smears on his clothing, or the way he could barely keep his knees from trembling, or even the rough edge his voice had taken on from all the screaming. He was keenly aware that he did not look like a Sith Lord. He did not look like a Jedi. He did not even look like a soldier. All he looked like was an old moisture farmer who had gone into town to spend what meager profit on a night's drinking and brawling.

Unfortunately, it was far too late to look at them with wide-eyed innocence and try to sell them the lie that he was just a humble worker who didn't have a clue of where he was. But that didn't stop him from momentarily considering it.

"I believe most of you already know me," he noted dryly. Leia's eyes narrowed.

"Indeed we do, which is why we find this claim so unbelievable," Ackbar rumbled, crossing his fins over his chest.

It was, indeed, quite a claim. There was no way to lie his way out of this, he knew. What he needed to do was tell the truth. Not the _entire_truth, of course...

"I want my revenge," he said simply, with only a moment's pause. "I have been trapped for years thanks to the Emperor's trickery. I am not suggesting I have suddenly adopted an entirely different set of morals - though they have shifted - I am here because we both want the same thing: to see the Empire fall."

M'yet Luure shifted, obviously about to ask a question, but Vader cut him off. "I don't expect the Rebel Alliance to welcome me with open arms. If I am going to fight, I know that this Council wants assurance of my loyalty..." He met Leia's eyes. "A leash, if you will." The briefest of smiles, and he tore his gaze away from her directly. "I can provide the frequency, codec and password for a small implant that rests in my jawbone - standard issue to human slaves at birth. I assume all are well aware of what happens when that implant is activated."

"You were born in slavery?" Leia's eyes widened, and the question was out of her mouth before she almost realized it. And part of her bristled. It was bad enough having Vader for a father, but her inner snob had always assumed that the _Lord_part meant that he was of decently high social status...

And he gave her a flat, deadpan stare. "Let's not insult this Council by pretending my childhood was full of rainbows, glitter and light, Princess. ...I assume that will be enough assurance until my actions can speak for themselves."

"Very well." Mon Mothma gave a small nod. "Personally, I am far more interested in the reasons for your defection. If you could explain...?"

"I have been kept in captivity, and now I am not. I believe that explains the situation entirely."

"Kept how so?"

His lips pursed a moment in thought. "I cannot say."

"Why not?" Madine interrupted gruffly, eyebrows knitting.

"Because I am sure that the Rebel Alliance would use the same brutal means to keep me under direct control once they learned how the Emperor managed it."

An uncomfortable silence followed. It was hard to argue the moral superiority and trustworthiness of the Rebellion while he stood there with a black eye slowly sliding into a vibrant shade of purple and a split lip dribbling blood onto his chin.

"I can, however, shed some light onto my motivations," he added, tone softer this time. "The Emperor is using the same method to control Luke Skywalker. As such, I will not rest until the Emperor is slaughtered like the pathetic slaver _he is_." His voice gradually rose to crescendo, like thunder rolling on the horizon. By the end his anger was so palpable that it seemed to be standing in the room beside him, a separate entity. It made the entire Council freeze in fear.

They could not tell how the anger was largely a mask, an old and tired routine, a cheap trick he was leaning on because he knew it worked.

There were hardly any muttered comments, just a few sidelong glances. Leia gave the smallest nod of approval she could. It was still enough. "I believe that this Council has heard enough. Thank you, Vader. We can adjourn -"

"I believe we have just _begun_, Mon Mothma. If you would remove my restraints?" The entire room looked a little nervous, now, and Vader gave one of the guards a flat glare. "If I had decided to kill you all, I would have _already done so_." It was not a very comforting statement, but it was true. "For more than twenty years I have kept a detailed map of what the Alliance would need to do to win this war. What the Empire would consider acceptable losses. What planets are ready to topple as soon as their puppet governments are gone. _Where the weaknesses are._" With his hands free, he made his way to the holodisplay; within a few moments he had already called up a display of known systems.

"The only way to Skywalker, now, is through the Emperor. And the only way to the Emperor is through the Empire. All of you realize this, and have realized it for awhile, I am sure. I am here to be the key that unlocks that path."

And then he began to explain.

It took two hours before he finally asked for a glass of water. By the fifth hour, Coruscant was secured in the Rebellion's theoretical hands, and just in time, because his voice had diminished to a hoarse whisper. He bowed to the Council before accepting the shackles once again on his arms, and being led back to the holding cell.

The Council's decision did not take very long to debate, but Leia decided to eat a leisurely dinner with Han before informing Vader of this. She may have also taken a shower and changed into a fresh uniform. She may have even taken the time to polish her boots. It was petty, but she still delighted in it, and she knew it was likely the last time she could indulge in such passive-aggressive harassment so directly. When she came down to the brig, he was sitting in a corner of the bare cell, head resting against the wall, hands resting on his knees. With each even-paced breath, it looked as if he was almost meditating. But he did open one eye, cat-like, to look at her as she rapped on the wall beside the open cell and then deactivated the field that contained him.

"Welcome to the Rebellion, Vader."


	22. Family Grammar

It wasn't a surprise that absolutely nobody volunteered to bunk with Vader, or that some officers even put in requests to sleep with the enlisted men in communal barracks so that Vader could be safely quarantined in his own private quarters. Leia would admit to being somewhat shocked about how easily Vader himself seemed to slip into life within the Rebellion. Perhaps his deep baritone naturally shocked people into obeying, when coupled with his stature, but officers were able to gather enough begrudging respect for his orders. And that seemed to be all that he cared about.

Little human needs like a bed to sleep in, food to eat, showers at night - he still acted as if he was above them, even though that wasn't true. Nobody seemed keen to acknowledge that he was just as much a person as they were - even in the line at the mess hall. To either side, the others tried their best to stare at their trays and deny the fact that Vader was also there because he needed lunch. Vader was still some lofty figure, far above them, at a comfortable distance to be hated.

He certainly wasn't in line with them, looking equally pleased about the beige mystery glop that claimed to be some sort of stew.

It hit the plate with an awful, tacky wetness. Given enough hot sauce it would be palatable, of course, but at the moment it looked incredibly unappetizing. It did not help that the man stuck on kitchen duty looked at Vader, looked at the plate meant for him, and then very calmly spat into the middle of the plate of food.

Vader stared, blinking for a moment as if he couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened. His eyebrows slowly knitted. Gingerly, he took a breath in, lips parting as if about to object, even as the plate was slammed on the counter and pushed towards him.

"If you send it back I'm only going to do something worse," the cook said, cutting him off.

They peered at each other, and the others in the lunchline braced themselves while eagerly watching the confrontation.

"I'll avoid cream sauces, then," Vader finally said wryly, taking the plate.

Across the mess hall, Leia had to admit that she was more than slightly amused by the entire scene. But she was also disappointed, as was everyone, when Vader wordlessly sat down with his lunch and began to carefully eat around the blob of spittle in the center of it. He sat at the opposite end of the hall, surrounded only by other empty tables. Nobody wanted to sit near him; he wished to sit near nobody. It was a tacit agreement all seemed to be happy with.

Leia wasn't quite sure why it bothered her so much.

With a sigh, she paused to adjust her hair before giving the others an apologetic smile. "If you'll excuse me..." The small group nodded, a general murmur of consensus; the conversation continued on without her as they all tried to forget the war and focus at least momentarily on the manageable dramas of the latest gossip. She, meanwhile, drew herself up and tried to put on the best neutral smile she could, not as much walking as gliding. As she neared the table where Vader sat, the rest of the mess hall grew quiet. After all, why discuss yesterday's gossip when you could see today's being made?

"So -"

He didn't look up from the datapad he was scrolling through, instead interrupting her. "Spare us both the small talk and say what you want, Princess."

She let an aggravated sigh politely roll out of her nose. "I wanted to talk, perhaps invite you over if you're interested in some company -"

"The truth, please, Organa." He looked up over the datapad to meet her gaze for only a moment. "You're a politican. I know politicians quite thoroughly. You would not be talking to me unless you wanted something specific."

"So I can't come for a friendly chat?" She said wryly.

"Of course not. Tell me what you want and I'll see that it's done."

Leia looked up at the ceiling for just a moment as if hoping some divinity was hiding in the tiles and could pop out and remind her to remain calm. "I don't want anything, Vader."

"You're lying. But why do you say you're here, then?" He actually set the datapad down, looking her in the eye. "To find some other way to annoy me? What should I look forward to, a rubber snake in my bed, or supposedly regulation armor that's been painted bright pink -"

His stare was more unnerving than she gave it credit for, and the truthful words were out of her mouth before she could catch them and stuff them back in. "I'm here because Luke would've wanted me to do this."

His eyes narrowed. Although she tried to look calm and collected, as if she had meant to say it, a blush was already rising on her cheeks.

"Would have, Princess?"

Her mouth gaped open ever so slightly and the blush grew stronger, heat blazing on her cheeks. "I mean, I'm sure he does -"

Vader's voice held a genuine angry bite, now, bitter as unsugared lemon. "You are the last person I would have expected to speak of him in the past tense."

"I didn't mean -"

"_I know exactly what you meant, Princess._" This time, his voice had dropped to a growl; for half a moment, a damning snarl crossed his face. "A politician only says what they truly mean when caught off guard. I should know - I've been under the thumb of one for the last twenty-five years, if not longer."

The blush rose more strongly in her face. "I am _not_ similar to the Emperor -"

"No, you're identical," he shot back, watching her flinch at the insult. "I don't care if you have given up on Skywalker. It won't matter if his friends have already abandoned him. All that you need to do is _stay out of my way_ while _I_ go save him." He rose up in one smooth motion, taking his tray in one hand and the datapad in the other. "Good day, Princess."

It was an icy, final sort of goodbye. Leia knew she had lost the fight, and she let another long sigh roll out of her through clenched teeth. She had not expected it to be that much of a disaster, and yet, it had been. The regular bitterness rose up in her again: what had she been expecting, really...?

And she looked up to the ceiling again as if expecting Luke to be peering down from the rafters. As if mouthing a prayer, she muttered while looking upwards: "Well, I tried..."


	23. Homecoming King

"Hell of a first official mission, Princess. ...I mean. If you don't mind me saying so." The pilot looked back over his shoulder nervously to Leia.

In a show of camaraderie, she gave him a brief smile. "No, you're right. I'm not looking forward to this."

"Vjun isn't exactly pleasant this time of year, ma'am." The pilot gave another solid gulp as they dropped out of hyperspace. The planet was remarkably quiet, all things considered, but even still, a detail had already gone ahead of them to clear out the few Imperial satellites circling the planet. "Vjun isn't pleasant _any_ time of year, all things considered. The acid rain and all."

The pilot flinched as heavy footsteps came up behind them, but Leia just gave a small aggravated sigh. Vader made his way down the bridge, hands clasped behind his back. Despite the lack of heavy armor - instead a mishmash of what he could scavenge, all painted black as if that would make it match - he still cut an impressively intimidating figure. Whatever honeymoon period there was had already ended. Now there was just a dull sense of dread and loathing.

"...Codec updated and transmitting, Commander Vader, sir," a young woman said promptly from her spot on the communications console.

"If it wasn't, we would already have been blown out of the sky," he replied, tone dry and edged with sarcasm. "Sensor readings?"

"Nothing abnormal, sir." Leia admitted that she would have to compliment every member of the crew when this mission was over. She knew they had been hand-picked, person by person, as to ensure that Vader's first official mission wouldn't end up a complete disaster with half of them strangled to death. It still surprised him that most of the crew was not old Imperial faces. If anything, Rebellion soldiers who had defected seemed adamant that Vader couldn't follow the same path they did. Most of the soldiers around her were bright-eyed and naiive fresh meat from Outer Rim worlds who still believed there was good in every person.

They reminded her far too much of Luke, in that respect. They were all too short to be stormtroopers, anyway. It made her miss the Farmboy even more.

"Regular chatter, then? Estimation of forces?" Vader paced back and forth on the bridge deck as the craft settled into a comfortable approach vector.

"...Nothing, sir. I can't - I can't pick up anything, it must be quiet on the ground, sir. I can't find any identification bulletins - not even with troops on patrol." She looked back to Vader nervously. "Should I be looking in additional frequencies, sir?"

"No." Vader stood a little straighter. "Bring us in - the largest landing pad. Keep all channels clear, monitor for any incoming communication. Minimal use of scanners, visual only when coming in."

The pilot looked back at Vader, wide-eyed, as they started to plunge through the clouds. "But sir, the atmosphere - with the constant acid rain, visibility is -"

"I have no patience for cowardice. If you can't do it, step aside." The pilot was almost trembling now, and stammered as Vader motioned at him. "I said _step aside_."

The pilot scurried out, gulping nervously. Leia herself stepped away, interested in observing. If anything, Vader settled into the pilot's chair with a sense of satisfaction, as if it was a rare treat to do such a thing. But the moment was gone almost as soon as Leia saw it, replaced with icy frustration as he glared at the pilot.

"Sir - the approach vector - shouldn't we...?"

"I am already aware of your incompetence. Stop attempting to prove it to me."

"Yes sir," the pilot squeaked meekly.

Leia shook her head. At least Vader hadn't killed anyone yet. Intimidation she might be able to tolerate, eventually. The pilot accepted a pat on the shoulder, and she gave him a sympathetic smile, but as the dim horizon came into view, she couldn't help but comment. "I thought we were sneaking in, not going to the main landing pad."

"The entire point of setting up a security system, Princess, is to make sure that you and only you can break it. Just as the point of building a castle is to know all the secret entrances." The spires came into clearer view through the hazy acid rain, and Vader gave a scowling frown.

"Is there a problem, Commander?"

"Even with the codec, we should have been shot down by now. The security systems are completely deactivated."

She raised an eyebrow. "And this is a problem...?"

"Because now we're going into an unknown situation." Vader guided the craft into the loading dock almost effortlessly, despite the speed and steep vector; the landing wasn't even harsh, but instead they kissed the ground gently. "Either way, the objectives remain the same. Systems seem to be intact. That's at least a few turbolasers to be scavenged, plus whatever vehicles are still stationed here, and whatever resources remain."

They exited the craft with blasters drawn, a small group of troops going ahead of them. But the platform was eerily quiet, nothing more than the steady patter of the acid rain. Leia was rather glad she had brought suitable headgear. Gingerly, the group circled around the platform. Vader himself seemed to be the most suspicious.

"An attache from the 501st should have been stationed here..."

"Uh, Commander Vader, sir?" One of the troops peered nervously off the side of the platform. "I believe I might have found the stormtroopers, sir."

It was a sheer drop downwards from the towering castle, and the acidic ocean pounded against the harsh cliffs. There were a few more small platforms, one of them accented by a garbage chute. The waters were nearly opaque, churning wildly, but there was a brief flash of white through the waves - half of a stormtrooper's helm, roughly chopped. The jaws of some animal crested over the water, snatching it back down.

Leia put a hand over her mouth once she realized what this meant, especially when coupled with the bloodstains on the chute machinery.

"Clever," Vader said, voice warm with appreciation. "I suppose this means we'll face relatively little resistance." Leia continued grimacing, trying to catch another glimpse of armor or bone. "We don't have time to gawk, Princess." She sighed, standing up straight and shaking herself off lightly.

The rain pattered steadily on her hat, and she couldn't help but feel slightly relieved when Vader pushily shoved the slicer away from the door. His fingers danced over the datapad; Leia tried to follow the code of numbers, but they were ultimately meaningless to her. The troops filed up behind them as Leia naturally settled into point beside Vader, and the doors swept open. The small entranceway was built almost like an airlock: plain stainless steel. Leia flinched as the doors slammed behind him.

A smooth, robotic voice greeted them, along with a quick flash of identifying laser grid at their feet. "Biometrics mismatch. Please state override."

The lights at their feet gave another flash in a solid grid, and Leia lifted one of her feet nervously. It was part of the security system that was still online, and there was no telling what would come next. It was the perfect opportunity for a trap.

"What the hell -" One of the troops in the back nervously clutched at his blaster.

Vader whirled, hand out. "Don't -!"

The warning came moments too late. Metal floodgates opened, slats in the smooth wall suddenly gushing with murky and acidic water brought up from the churning sea below. Leia's mouth was open to cry out and water rushed in immediately. The torrent slammed her against the wall as good as a bolo-ball linebacker - there was someone's foot as they desperately tried to flail to the surface - a blaster floated by her -

The security system's prerecorded voice cut smoothly through the water. "Incorrect override given. Emergency countermeasures deployed." The water was rising, and Leia scrambled to the top, taking a deep breath half mingled with spray, coughing. The inches of air were quickly shrinking as the voice continued. "Please supply override," it chirped. "Please supply override."

Vader himself finally surfaced with a gasp, his leonine mane of hair sticking to his face.

"Please supply -"

"SHMI!" Vader roared.

"Override accepted." The flow of water immediately reversed, no longer a torrent flooding the room - instead it gently flowed out, grates opening in the floor. It was only moments before the water was clear, troops spluttering. One needed a few hard pats on the back before he gagged up the water he had swallowed. Leia struggled to her feet, dripping, holding her hands away from her body and shaking them out. The acidic water was distinctly unpleasant - likely half of them would be covered in light burns by the end of this, with clothing trapping the acidic water to their skin. Nothing a little bacta-infused lotion couldn't fix, but Leia was already planning how exactly to complain to Vader.

He was gasping, leaning against the doorframe of the closed entranceway. As she shook herself off with all the grace and dignity of a cat that had been tossed into a swimming pool, Leia glared at him. "I assume you were the one that planned that brilliant little water trap?"

"Well." He coughed. "It is substantially more brilliant when you take into account that I was planning to be in that damn mask forever. Which had its own independent air supply."

"Oh, well, in that case, it makes perfect sense. Very clever." Leia snapped back sarcastically.

There was a gurgle as the last of the water drained from the room, and the inner doors swept open. "Welcome home, Lord Vader," the pleasant voice of the security system chirped.


	24. Badger, Bread, and Grace

((The next few Bast Castle chapters are little tidbits of fun character interaction. We'll get back to your regularly scheduled adventure time shortly, I promise! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!))

"Not exactly what you'd call homey. ...Not as bad as I expected."

The whispers echoed as the troops shuffled squishily behind Vader, and Leia looked back at them a moment before shaking her head, smirking gently before looking forward again, content to eavesdrop.

"Yeah, it's almost... cozy, I guess."

"Blank walls and shiny steel makes it cozy?"

"Well... Imperial cozy."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to remember that when I'm planning my honeymoon. Go for the Death Star Bed and Breakfast."

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a hint of a smile on Vader's face. But it was quickly gone and replaced with a businesslike scowl as they paused at a security station. His fingers, gloved as they were, flew over the keys with impressive speed that showed his comfortable familiarity with the system. "The rest of the security systems are disabled. ...Scans show the entire Stormtrooper garrison has disappeared." Two bright blips showed on the screen as more information flashed by, and Vader's expression hardened.

"What? ...Two people are still here? - Officers? Squatters?" Leia pressed him for information, trying to grab whatever breadcrumbs she could. But he slammed his hand down on the console and its screen went blank. With a grim determination, he started swiftly walking down the long corridor. Leia snorted in annoyance but matched his pace, and the troops shuffled behind them in a confused and disorganized line. Their footsteps echoed off the cold walls, reverberating, echoing the steady chaotic beat of the rain falling on the roof.

As they approached a slick set of doors, Vader raised a hand, glaring at the group and motioning for silence. It took a moment for the troops to comply, drenched and disorganized as they were. Vader entered an access code into the panel and the doors slid open, revealing what seemed to be a set of guest rooms; compared to the smooth steel corridor, it was rather plush and comfortable. A large bed was visible, and the translucent canopy revealed a large lump of shadow underneath covers. Vader's steps became more and more light, his lightsaber unlit in his hand, as he stepped forward. Leia followed closely, blaster drawn and close to her face at the ready.

Vader reached out, black gloved hand barely touching the canopy before he whipped it away in one smooth motion.

Two figures were pleasantly snuggled underneath the covers - a middle-aged man, holding a young Kiffar woman close to him. Her long curly hair was spread out over the bed, and from her figure, even Leia could tell she was pregnant - perhaps six months along.

Leia watched Vader's face closely, trying to figure out what his reaction was. Instead his face remained perfectly neutral before he barked out: "Dasje!"

The man flinched awake, hands out, and almost instantly he was out of bed, adjusting his clothes and sweeping into a bow. "Lord Vader! My deepest apologies - we didn't expect you so soon -"

The woman followed almost as quickly, out of bed, smoothing out her dress. Both of them found their outer clothing almost as quickly, looking distinctly more civilized once they were. Leia had barely managed to put her blaster away before it seemed they both became a whirlwind of hospitality. The woman pressed a fluffy towel into her hands and reflexively she scrubbed at her dripping wet hair, wringing it out.

"Princess Organa," Vader said, smiling softly and gesturing at the two, "Dasje, majordomo of Bast Castle; Mirou, head chef."

"Er -"

Both of them swept into elegant bows once more. She swore that Vader was smiling, but only for an instant. "Dasje, we need all resources -"

"Sir," the man interrupted politely, "All supplies have been packed into the vehicles that can hold cargo. Security codes have been updated and verified." As the majordomo continued, Vader slowly crossed his hands over his chest, looking impressed. "All funds have been laundered into private accounts, and any credits that may have been compromised have been transferred into untraceable valuable commodities. Turbolaser cannons are offline and ready to be deinstalled..."

"I'll see to it that everyone is directed towards the sonic showers, with your permission, Princess. The uniforms can easily be laundered in the meantime. The acid rain simply isn't healthy. I can also prepare a meal from the current stock of produce...?" Her voice trailed up in a question, and although she initially looked to Leia, she looked more intently to Vader.

"Very good, Mirou." Vader nodded in assent, and the Kiffar woman swiftly exited the room.

"Good morning!" Leia could hear Mirou talking to the troops. "Please - there are sonic showers in these following rooms. I'm sure I can find extra uniforms for you all to wear in the meantime while yours are laundered - would anyone like something to eat?"

The gaggle of confused troops stared worriedly at Leia through the doorway before she nodded. "It's - it's fine." She looked at Vader out of the corner of her eye before glancing back. "She's an ally. You won't be hurt."

"Wonderful, please follow me, honored guests. There are plenty of towels in the 'freshers. I can offer poultry in a simple sandwich, vegetables of course - oh, and dessert, of course dessert. Does everyone enjoy kjundi fruit? I make this lovely trifle..."

Leia couldn't help but smile listening to the Kiffar woman lead them back like willing schoolchildren. Coming prepared for battle and being met with open hospitality - it was quite a switch. Admittedly, Leia was relieved that instead of drawn-out close-quarters fighting, there would be trifle and showers. The rest of the convoy would be landing soon, ready to pack away all of the extra supplies.

It was... too easy.

Leia crossed her arms over her chest, watching the conversation between the majordomo and Vader. "...Cargo vessels loaded and ready?"

"Of course, Lord Vader. Everything is prepared and ready."

"You seem remarkably prepared for this, Dasje. ...and unconcerned." There was a critical edge to his voice. "I'm surprised you even recognize me."

"Lord Vader, I've spent the last twenty years knowing you by footsteps alone. ...If I may speak freely, sir -"

Vader nodded curtly, and the man pulled himself up into a dignified state of attention, hands clasped behind his back. "A decent servant merely meets basic needs. A _good_ servant anticipates. ...And, Lord Vader, I am nothing if not the best."

Leia watched Vader's face carefully. Perhaps there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, or a shift in his body language. She didn't see it, but Dasje did. "Good," Vader said curtly. "Dasje, you'll report to Princess Organa."

"M'lord. I do have some... bad news."

Vader turned, staring down the other man, eyebrow arching.

"I'm afraid while liquidating assets - the, ah, racing swoops in particular - most of them were too easily identifiable for scrap..." Dasje drew in a breath through clenched teeth. "I'm afraid the best opportunity was to be opportunistic."

"And?"

"I'm afraid... the Claren was sold, sir." Dasje broke the news with all the tenderness of a doctor informing a family member of a death.

Vader's shoulders immediately slumped.

"I'm so sorry, m'Lord."

Vader heaved a sigh. "A... sensible decision. Who was it sold to? - A moff, a private collector...?"

Dasje grimaced. "I'm afraid there's no chance of recovering it, sir. It was sold to a Black Sun operative and..."

"And?"

"...Fatal crash the first time around the track. Claren was completely destroyed. Along with the driver."

Vader hung his head, giving a long, slow curse underneath his breath. Leia's eyebrows knitted in puzzled amusement. It was just a material possession, so she indulged in a bit of delight over his distress.

And sadly, the moment was over too soon for her to properly savor it.


	25. Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

((Another little tidbit. Fellow gearheads will forgive the shameless 4th wall breaking.))

The Millennium Falcon settled into the wide hangar, and by the time Han walked down the boarding ramp, Leia was there to greet him. The hangar was already full of Rebel soldiers, organizing all of the scavenged materials they could, loading them onto the small fleet of personal ships Vader had at Bast Castle - or whatever Dasje could order in time before covering his tracks. Han understandably did not look pleased to be there - and it was an irresistible opportunity to tease him.

"Han!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "We have a situation."

"What? What's happened?"

She remained stony-faced until he was next to her, then let a slim smile play on her lips, taking a small covered dish out of the bag slung at his hip. "Eat this."

"That's the situation?" He said incredulously, but undid the top of the tin, pulling out the simple attached spoon from its holder and poking suspiciously at the contents.

"The situation is that we need to pull out all the stops to get this woman cooking for the Rebellion full-time. ...Go ahead, take a bite. You'll see what I mean."

Han glared worriedly until he actually tried a bite. "Mmfn! ...Mmm." His eyes lit up immediately, and one bite quickly followed another. Chewbacca followed Han down, snuffling before giving a curious and keening roar. "That's -" Han gulped before taking one more bite. "That's the best I've ever had." He turned to offer it to Chewbacca. "Fish stew over rice. And I don't even _like_ fish stew. But that's delicious."

Leia smirked. "You see what I mean about how we have a situation?"

"Yeah, I think I do. But..." He grinned, looking around the hangar. "I'm only here for one thing. Vader has a Claren, right? Anyone found it yet? Because I'm loading it onto the Falcon and saying we're even about Bespin -"

"That would only be proper reparations if I had actually killed you, Solo, and then only if I had killed you _very_ slowly and _very_ painfully," Vader interrupted, striding into the hangar. Han jumped a little and glared at Vader as he passed. "Besides, it's destroyed. Scrap." While Vader continued to direct a group of troops, giving instructions on how to best dismantle some part of the castle before returning them to Dasje's care, Han gave a long mournful sigh. The troops who had overheard the announcement also looked as if they had just been informed that their grandmother died along with their favourite pet cat.

Leia sighed. "All right, I have to ask. I've heard the name before, but I can't remember where. ...What, exactly, is a Claren?"

"The fastest production swoop ever made!"

Han smirked at the trooper's enthusiasm. "You know how in every barracks there's at least one poster of a fancy swoop next to whatever pin-up girl? ...The Claren is _always_ that swoop."

"There were only fifty-two ever made!" The trooper continued rambling in excitement. "Well, fifty-three, counting Vader's. There was some debate as to whether it counted or not - custom job, as I understand it, with some slight variation in parts and tuning, not to mention whatever additions -"

"I used to be able to name all fifty-three owners," the other nearby trooper said with starry-eyed nostalgia. "The whole list. Even the colors they had their Clarens painted, sometimes..."

Leia shook her head, cracking a smile. "Boys and their toys. I should've known." She nailed Vader with a smirk as he strode past, busy with some sort of organizational task.

"Every man has their own individual weakness. Admiral Thrawn keeps his art collection. Tarkin's favourite foible was called Natasi Daala. For my part..." He turned to face her once he reached the turbolift. "I happen to like going very fast."

"I thought your indulgence was killing things," Leia said snidely.

"True. Going very fast, _and_ killing things." He tilted his head slightly with a sarcastic smirk. "Occasionally, I even combine the two. ...Every man has some similar weakness. And I believe Solo's little proclivity..." Vader stared the other man down, still smiling cruelly. "_Might_ just be named Leia."

The turbolift doors closed before Leia could shoot back a properly stinging remark.


	26. Spice and Everything Nice

"So what do you think about this?"

One of the rebel troops stared at the other, chopsticks in hand, quirking an eyebrow before the other gestured with a bit of flatbread in hand. "You know, all of this. Coming in expecting to be all guns blazing and instead getting, um..."

"Getting fed like it's Life Day at grandma's house?" He grinned around a bite of food. "I'm not complaining."

"It's sort of strange, though. Don't you think?" The troop paused, setting down his garlicky flatbread to more properly hop up on the kitchen counter.

"Of course it's strange." He poked around in the bowl of noodles with his chopsticks, pulling out a small deep-fried squid and popping it in his mouth - and continuing to talk despite this. "Iff's like you juff found out -"

"Damn! Swallow, _then_talk!"

"Sheesh, all right, sorry - like I was saying. It's like you just found out your favourite great aunt - y'know, the one that always gives you 50 credits on your birthday with a card and tells you to go buy an ice cream - is a serial killer. A damn good serial killer. But she's still patting you on the head and giving you cake."

"Yeah, that's a good way to put it." The other frowned. "_Too_good of a way to put it, come to think of it..."

"Stop giving me that look, my great aunt's no killer. She did do the ice cream thing, though..."

Smiling broadly, Mirou wandered over to that section of the kitchen, and both of the troops straightened up in attention - though their attitudes were less in military precision and more similar to dogs who had just noticed somebody picking up the bag of liver treats. "Enjoying your meal? There's plenty more where that came from, you know, seems such a waste to throw out fresh produce when there's no good way to transport it so may as well make it useful..."

"Oh - uh, no thank you, Miss Mirou, I'm stuffed, couldn't eat another bite." The trooper paused. "Unless you have more of that trifle, I mean."

"I'm sure there's some in here," she said cheerfully, pointing to a refrigerator unit. There was an immediate scramble to get it open, and one of the Rebellion troops started lifting out a large tray of leftover trifle, grinning ear to ear. In a flash, Mirou was there to pull him back. "Oh no, no, dear - not that one!"

"What?" The trooper looked confused, and one of his comerades couldn't help but joke: "Lord Vader's personal trifle, maybe?"

"That one's the poisoned one," Mirou chirped with a smile. "You don't want to eat it, you'll be dead in a half-hour at most. Here, dear. You want this one. It's mostly gone but it's safe."

The group stared at her even as she cheerfully took out the poisoned dessert and scraped it out into a trash bin.

"...Miss Mirou? Why do you have, uh, poisoned trifle just... around?"

"Very simple, really." She gave them all a bright smile. "It's how we dealt with all the officers, you know, the ones that stayed behind, when they didn't quite see things our way when it came to loyalty to Lord Vader over the Empire." She tapped the large spoon on the edge of the trash bin, and the last bit of trifle flopped into it. "My trifle's irresistible, you know. Even if I did have to add some almond extract to cover up the poison... It's supposed to be a very nice death. Like going to sleep and never waking up."

They continued staring, even as she turned around, waddling slightly because of her already-quite-round pregnant belly. "Now. Would anyone like any cake?" Her tone was pleasant and cheerful as always, and she seemed to be the only one not bothered in the least of going from talk of murder straight on to dessert.

But even still, with cake involved, it only took about five seconds for half the troopers in the group to nod yes eagerly.

* * *

"Dasje!" Leia admitted she was slightly disappointed that the man had stopped jumping when she called his name, but she did appreciate how he smoothly turned around to give his full attention to her. She had grown up on Alderaan with seemingly ever-present servants floating around her in a smothering cloud, and she had hated it. But being given a taste of that life once more, she had to admit, she was starting to miss such luxuries. She didn't know whether she was truly wishing to be lazy and pampered again, or if it was simply pining for something she could never again have - there was no more visiting her favourite summer home on Alderaan, after all...

"Where is Vader? We need his voiceprint authorization for one of the ships we're taking out... They're loading it now, but the ignition won't turn without his code - and I can't find him." She gave a small huff of annoyance.

"I believe he is in his private quarters, Princess Organa," Dasje informed her politely with a half-bow of greeting. "Gathering personal items and data to take with him."

Her eyebrows twitched. "These things weren't packed before?"

"Lord Vader is an intensely private man, Princess Organa."

"More to the point, what exactly does he have up there...? Dasje, show me where his quarters are, please." The man stared at her with a polite expression of worry, obviously expecting her to reconsider. "_Now._"

"As you wish, Princess. Up this way, please..."

The walls were surprisingly bare, though Leia did admit she was expecting more war-trophies - more gruesome reminders of Vader's victories. Instead Bast Castle seemed to be a clean space, too clean, lacking the clutter that daily living accumulates. She had glimpsed the bottom basement, which was a miserable jumble of trinkets, statues, and other presents of supplication to Vader, as if he was part deity and could be bought off with sacrifices. All of them had been banished and forgotten.

If Bast Castle as a whole was spartan, Vader's quarters were even more barren. There was the hyperbaric chamber in the center, two parts lifting open to reveal the chair inside. There was no bed, no dresser, no nightstand. There was nothing on the walls, just clean and plain steel. There was exactly one window, a large and sweeping view of the acidic sea churning below the harsh cliffs. It was very much a place for a man to be alone with his thoughts - whether he liked it or not.

The only other object of note was a holonet and data console, with a rather luxurious looking chair. (Leia made a mental note to see if there was room to have it packed in one of the ships. Comfortable chairs were one of the things the universe liked to short the Rebellion on. And besides, the opportunity to not only have a comfortable chair, but _Vader's_comfortable chair, was too perfect to pass up.) Vader was indeed there, standing next to it, obviously in the middle of downloading files onto a datapad.

"Vader. _What_are you doing?"

He looked over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow at her. "Acquiring some personal files. I was led to believe I am still allowed to have those," he noted dryly.

"Technically, you are still a prisoner of war, and a security risk." She crossed one arm over her chest, reaching out with the other. "The Rebellion isn't as stupid as you assume, Vader."

"Yes, I'm sure I would keep all of my secret evil plans in such obvious places," he said sarcastically. "If you were looking for light reading, Princess, all you needed to do was ask." He flipped the datapad into her hand, and she still stared him down before tapping at its screen to resume the holovid file that had been cued to play.

"...the Senate recognizes the right honorable ambassador from Pantora, Senator Riyo Chuchi."

"Thank you, Speaker. Although some of my fellow senators appear to be napping, this budget matter is of great importance. Although the Republic must defend itself, Pantora has some additions to the bill that are worth considering. The first of which is, I believe, most important - a point-five percent increase on the interest rate of war bonds and additional incentives for the public to buy them..."

Leia slowly looked back up at him. "...Your private files are... Senate meeting records?" She said, disbelieving, peering at him critically.

He rolled his shoulders in a light shrug, hands clasped behind his back. "Occasionally I feel I need a reminder that all politicians are tiresome liars," he stated coolly, his face perfectly neutral and full of the cold-hearted disinterest Leia had been expecting.

She did not know about Senator Padme Amidala's half-hour-long speech an hour and forty-five minutes in, and how he did not care that she was speaking about interest rates on war bonds since it was her voice and therefore precious.

Leia shook her head and paused the playback before letting Vader take the datapad back. "I think I'm bored quite enough, thank you." That mystery would be for her to unravel later. Until then, there were more pressing matters. "We need your voiceprint for one of the cargo vessels..."


	27. Tar Baby

((Yes, this is a short chapter. Yes, we're nearing the end of the Bast Castle stuff. Thanks for being patient with me! Soon we'll return to your regularly scheduled actioney goodness.))

The basement of Bast Castle had been locked away for so many months that it took the lights a long moment to flicker on. There was nothing more than the soft clatter of Vader's boots as he came down the secondary stairway, ignoring the turbolift. Even the murmur of the rain of the roof was lost, so far in the bowels of the house. Rows and rows of statues in his image - or what used to be his image - lined the storage space, silent soldiers waiting for orders. Some shone in gold, platinum - other precious metals. Sacred heartwoods shared space with the most technologically advanced pieces of art the universe had to offer. All of them were supplication, meant to buy Lord Vader's favor, as if he could be satiated with baubles like a common streetwalker.

He hated this place.

He hated what each present stood for. He hated that he was forced into taking each one, and keeping it, just in case the Empire would need it later to appease some petty official. All of them were useless effigies of what he used to be. Row after row of blank and lifeless stares.

There was a long row of them, just the perfect height, and he landed a solid kick on a pedestal. One toppled into another, falling backwards. It was destruction, but rather unsatisfying. The suit was gone, but the ugliest part of it - the feeling of being trapped, smothered, confined - still persisted.

Like some great predator, he slowly circled the largest statue. His lightsabers snapped out behind him, growling in the air. His footsteps were light as he stalked forward, paused, and then finally launched himself at the statue with unprecedented viciousness.

The lightsaber blades easily bit into the stone. Soon it was in two pieces - four, six - he sliced again and again. The massive helm bore the worst of it as he drove the lightsaber into the eyes of the helm, then the mouth. It was frustration turned into movement as he sliced again and again.

Eventually the stone heated up, glowing red at the edges with each cut. And then the mass became all edges, molten stone sealing again. He couldn't tell if it was all self-healing wounds, something miraculous, or whether it was more similar to the lava he remembered flowing all around him, choking him as he drowned -

A long sticky tendril of lava curled up, following his lightsaber blade. He narrowly avoided stepping in the pool of it as it seared the floor, cooling quickly. He swore some stuck to his heel as he stumbled back. And his lightsabers were still lit as he slid to sit on an upturned column, gasping for breath. Even he couldn't tell if each deep breath was because of the sudden burst of exercise, or if it truly held that small tremble as a prelude to sobbing.

After a few long moments he put his lightsabers, unlit, back in his belt, and put his head on his hands. Nothing - he had accomplished nothing. Just wasted energy, wasted effort, wasted anger. It would have been so easy to just let the frustration roll out in tears, if he hadn't been so proud.

It wasn't a sound that lured him out of his dark thoughts: it was a smell. Not the crisp ozone of a lightsaber blade's cut or the brimstone heat of the destroyed statue. No, it was complex - savory, slightly sweet - a rich spiciness - and at the base, something earthy and familiar, so much like what was most easily grown on moisture farms on Tatooine...

The bowl of mushroom curry was on the edge of the fallen column, his makeshift bench, and he had no doubt who left it there. He merely hoped that she was still watching to see the worn smile that came over his face, and to see how he handled the bowl so delicately as if it were far more precious than any of the jeweled tchotchkes in the room. It was the closest thing he had to home, and while it remained, he would take comfort in it.


	28. Walking Widderschynnes

"That is the last box, I believe, Princess Organa." Dasje gave her a polite, if bland, smile. "The charges are set to be triggered remotely. Mirou and I will take care of that, unless you would like to deal with it personally."

"No, that's fine." Leia reached up to undo her hair from part of its complicated system of braids while Dasje politely waited for the next command. Bast Castle was now as empty as they possibly could have managed. There was still a salvage team working on stripping the security system for any useful parts, but the turreted guns had been easy to remove. Even if there had been more to scavenge, there was little point in remaining. Better to leave no trace and leave the Empire only a salted field, making sure the facility was thoroughly useless. "Dasje, I had a few questions for you." Leia kept her tone respectful and delicate.

"Of course, Princess."

"Shmi." Dasje's eyebrows raised slightly. "Yes - Vader's master passcode."

"I'm familiar with it, ma'am." Of course an answer wouldn't be that easy, but he was still perfectly polite. He didn't offer any more information, merely clasping his hands behind his back.

Gingerly, she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to strike the right tone in body language to get him to talk. "I was hoping you knew what it meant." She caught his look and quickly backpedaled: "I'm not asking you to be indiscreet, I promise. Although it's true that there are many significant security risks with Vader's new position..." She made eye contact with him as she let the lie come freely. "I'm trying to get a better sense of who he is, to make him more comfortable, perhaps. The Rebellion isn't the impersonal machine the Empire is."

It took a moment, but Dasje gave a small nod, apparently accepting what she had said. "I'm afraid I know nothing about it, personally. But I do remember some relevant advice, perhaps, that Lord Vader himself gave me." She was glad to see the older man relax somewhat, and he gestured widely as he talked. "A man's most secure password will either be the name of his favourite pet, or it will be his mother's maiden name. Apparently that rule never failed him, and he did not see the reason in paying an expensive slicer when an officer could merely conduct a few interviews."

Leia cracked a smile and a quiet laugh, and made a mental note to change her password. Immediately.

"Thank you, Dasje. Just... one more thing."

"Yes, Princess?"

"I have to ask this."

"Oh, I understand."

"You likely know I've been dreading it."

Dasje chuckled.

"Is there _any_ way that you and your wife would join the Rebel Alliance?" Leia gave a slightly pathetic grimace. "You can ask, but I'm fairly sure you already know what a proud woman I am, and right now I am begging you - _begging you_ - to think of any way..."

Already, he was shaking his head no. "I am terribly sorry, Princess. But I am afraid Mirou and I have already made our plans."

She gave an overdramatic sigh before hopping up to sit on one of the last cargo containers. "Well, it was worth a try." Her feet hurt from walking around in circles, and she took the opportunity to loosen the laces on her boots. "I heard something about Dantooine?"

"Oh, yes. A little farm - triticale, mostly. I believe it's currently the dry season, so we'll stay a few months in Danuta City, perhaps even have a small service and become officially married." He caught the way Leia's eyebrows were raised. "Bast Castle isn't the best venue for a wedding, I'm sure you'd agree. We've simply not had it written down on the books as of yet. Initially, I believe Mirou _did_ ask Lord Vader to officiate, but..."

"I may be a man of many talents, Dasje, but that is _not_ one of them." Vader called out as he walked up, his footsteps echoing in the empty hangar bay. Mirou ushered a few very full-looking Rebel troops behind him, and she herself cradled an old, dented stock pot in her arms. As soon as Dasje saw it, he smiled broadly, and he pulled himself into a bow. "I know for a fact that you and Mirou have enough money stashed in various accounts to never work another day in your lives. And I hope you take advantage of this."

"With all respect, Lord Vader, what is a man without his work?"

A small but startlingly genuine smile played on Vader's lips. "Indeed. ...I believe with these last few boxes, Princess, we will be ready to leave, as will Dasje and Mirou."

It was finally time to part ways, just two vessels left in the hangar bay. The Rebel troops, groaning and stuffed with food as they were, already busied themselves carrying up the last box of supplies. Soon Leia and Vader would walk up the cargo bay ramp and be gone. Dasje and Mirou would finally be able to live their own lives, instead of catering to Vader's whims - though of course Leia knew they didn't think of it that way. Instead there was a deep fondness there. Perhaps the two servants were the closest thing Vader had to family. ...besides Luke, and besides herself, but she would be damned if she let that slip to him anytime soon.

The need to say something stood alongside them, as real and tangible as the steel plating beneath their feet.

"I suppose if anyone gives you trouble on Dantooine, feel free to tell me, and I'll deal with the matter personally."

"We wouldn't want to be any inconvenience, Lord Vader," Dasje said humbly.

"You're welcome to come visit, of course. At any time," Mirou added.

Vader nodded in acknowledgement, though there was a mutual and unspoken realization that he would, of course, never see them again. There were a few long heartbeats of silence, and Leia watched them closely, eyes darting from one face to another to try and catch any small change in expression.

"Dasje. Mirou. ...Be well."

"Be well, Lord Vader." They both bowed, and Vader gave a stately nod in acknowledgement. And with that he turned and climbed into the small freighter.

Leia tried to think of something appropriately gracious and cheerful, but it seemed right for Vader's goodbye to be the last they heard. Instead she scurried up into the craft and settled into ordering the pilot to start takeoff procedures.

And within five minutes they were gone.

Mirou watched the craft fly out of the shuttle bay into the perpetual drizzle, hugging her old stock pot close to her chest. Dasje finished putting the last small suitcase of their possessions in the craft that had been reserved for them, and came to stand beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. She twisted her head to return it more fully, her face alight with gentle joy.

"I never thought I would see it, Dasje, but... it was so good to see him smile."

((Yes, folks, that's the end of the Bast Castle chapters. We now return to your regular actioney angsty goodness.))


	29. Love's A Losing Game

At a certain station in life, vices stop being hazardous and, if anything, become required. Moff Nisu tel Cinar of Taris had skipped over the usual drinking and gambling, and had even gone through the stable of human courtesan girls quite quickly. Twi'lek girls were cheap, but he eternally craved something else. Moff Nisu was a good servant of the Empire. He believed the propaganda. Non-human girls were not only exotic, they were expendable, ultimately worthless in the eyes of the Empire. So the togruta woman had come at the perfect time.

Nisu gasped as he flopped back onto the bed, giving a small, crazed laugh. "That… that was amazing."

"It was," the togruta purred, rolling over onto her side. He continued to pant as she drew lazy circles on his chest with a clawed finger. "I'm sure it will just get better."

The cool air was refreshing on his sweaty skin, and he was reluctant to get anywhere near the sheets, kicking them off. But her body heat lingered near him, a welcome comfort, a reminder of what had happened and what would surely happen again. She was beautiful. Her long montrals made her silhouette wonderfully foreign as she sat up. She was his – and she was his to use however he liked, until he tired of her. Expendable. Cheap. Glorious.

She laughed a little, almost half a growl, a rumbling catch in the back of her throat. Nisu had read about how togruta were primitive and barbaric, carnivorous hunters at best. Now he believed it all – he had experienced it, every inch of her wildness.

It was tempting to simply close his eyes and drift off into sleep, but she apparently had other plans. The sinuous way she moved was intoxicating as she stretched and then straddled his chest, looming over him. A slant of light snuck in the open window and licked at her form, illuminating the curve of her neck to her collarbone and half of the white markings on her cinnamon-red skin. The only modesty she had was a shadow draped over her bare breasts.

"Nisu," she cooed. "I want to ask you a question."

"Of course. Anything."

"And don't lie." She shifted her arms and wiggled coquettishly. "I'll know if you lie."

He nodded in assent, still dizzily pleased. His breaths were already starting to deepen as he looked over her bare form, especially as she leaned in. "Do you love me?"

Her breath was hitting his face, and his eyes fluttered. For a moment he tensed. This was a trick question, and he knew it. But he had also been up-front. This relationship, as it was… It was disposable. It was not meant to last. She was just for fun – not for love.

"No," he finally answered.

A bright smile broke over her face, and Nisu relaxed. He had chosen the right answer. "Good. That's very good." Her hands cradled his face, caressing his cheeks, and the long fingernail of her thumb grazed against his skin. "I'm very glad to hear that." She leaned back, and the long tendrils of her headtails tickled gently on his chest, even as her hands continued to move up his cheeks. "That means this won't be a surprise."

His lips pursed in confusion seconds before her thumbs jerked away from his temples. She plunged her thumbs into his eyes in a quick and professional manner. He screamed, of course. There was blood, and pinkish gore, wet and slick as she dug into the meat of his head. The neighbors had long since trained themselves to ignore such noise, and the rest of Taris city simply did not care. Eventually Moff Nisu stopped thrashing.

She calmly slid off him, wiping off her thumbs on the blanket. The small, slinky dress was all she needed, but out of modesty she picked up her coat. Taris was not especially chilly, but the fur coat had been a gift from the Moff and there would be questions if she wasn't wearing it. She could dispose of it on her own time, far away from Taris.

There was no reason to come back, after all. With the Moff gone, the puppet government would become unstable. A swift yet quiet transition would occur. Taris would be ripe for the Rebellion's taking.

All things considered, she had done quite well. From the outside, the small pinpoint of light as she lit a cigarra seemed to be one and the same as all the lights of the city spires.

And Ahsoka Tano smiled as she tapped the turbolift button to head down to the shuttle bay.

((Hi everyone, sorry for another Author's Note!

I just wanted to say I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this story. I know this chapter is short; it acts as a bridge back to our actioney goodness, and I thought it'd be nice to check in and see how someone other than Vader is doing.

If you guys are ever interested in fanart and other silliness, I encourage you to stop by theforce dot net and say hello – I post a lot of goodies over there I can't post on FFN.

Thank you again for reading!))


	30. Wackidoo

Not that he would admit it - especially to Princess Organa, of all people - but in a situation where he was being called sir and giving orders, Vader felt as exposed without a carefully crafted air of mystery as he would without underwear and trousers. The black scraps of armor had been cobbled together into something fairly intimidating, especially when coupled with a wide, asymmetrical cape that furled out behind him like a silken shadow. The pauldron was a slapdash job: the stenciled Alliance starbird was accented with a small drip on the left bottom edge. But the troops seemed impressed. Vader had never worn such an obvious symbol of the Empire. He had _been_ an obvious symbol of the Empire. And now he was taking up someone else's insignia for his own.

The pauldron also did a great job of keeping the cape in place. As vain as he might be, Vader prided himself on being practical.

All of the Rebellion troops immediately stood at a straighter attention as he strode out of the small craft into the bunker. Their Captain, however, continued barking out orders. "...We get in, we get the information, we get out again! Resistance will be heavy! But you know what to do!"

"Yes, sir!" They chorused.

"Your job is to provide a clear path to the datacenters in this remote facility. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good! Commander Vader will fill in the details!" The captain stepped aside expectantly. "All yours, Commander."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I... assume you have some sort of strategy, sir?"

"Of course," he said dryly. But other than that he said nothing, merely brushing back the hood of his cloak before removing it along with the pauldron. The bits and pieces of armor came next - a pile of jet black.

The Captain cleared his throat expectantly.

"I suppose you want detail," Vader said dryly.

"Yes, sir."

He was leaning down to lace his boots slightly more tightly. As he shrugged off his black overtunic and reached up to fix his hair back in a ponytail, he left his appearance rumpled and loose. It seemed in moments he had gone from a master of intimidation to someone relatively normal. "The plan is very simple. Shut up, wait here, and follow me in when I give the signal."

"...That's it?" One of the troops piped up incredulously.

"That is precisely 'it'. I assume that you lot can understand those basic instructions." He gave a momentary bright, cruel smile before starting to hop up out of the earthen trench.

"Ah - Commander, sir -" The Captain flailed sightly. "What is the signal, sir?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

The spires of the communications station could be seen through the thick and colorful Saleucami forest. It was a small enough station - perhaps a garrison of fifty, at most - but the Rebellion still found themselves sorely outmatched and outgunned. Not that it would be a problem, with Vader leading the charge. They just didn't know that quite yet.

As soon as he hit the forest floor, climbing out of the trench, something about his stance relaxed. Instead of striding purposefully, he ambled. He stuck his hands in his pockets. The intimidating Commander was left behind in the trench, replaced with some wandering farmboy who had strayed too far from his land.

The stormtrooper standing at guard sighed and shifted his rifle in his hand. "Sir, this is Imperial property."

He kept his face perfectly straight, and continued walking forward.

"Civilians aren't allowed here, sir."

The only reaction Vader gave was a small, slow blink.

"Sir. If you don't turn back now, we _will_ have to start shooting."

And he continued walking forward.

The stormtrooper brought his rifle to his shoulder with a sigh. "All right, sir. You asked for this..."

The first blaster bolt was quickly met by his lightsaber, which lashed out as soon as the shot came.

"Oh, _kriff!_"

The old farmer disappeared, replaced once more with a battle-hardened warrior. With a rash and wild grin on his face, Vader drew his second lightsaber, and charged into the building.

Like meerkats in a sand dune, the rebel officers peered up out of the trench, a neat line of beige helmets.

"So... when's the signal?"

There was the distant sound of lightsabers meeting blaster bolts. Screams echoed out through the open door and into the forest.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

The rebel soldiers glanced at each other. A second-story window smashed, a stormtrooper flung out from it onto the forest floor below.

"Maybe if we stay here, he'll just do it all for us?" The soldiers giggled nervously among themselves.

Another stormtrooper followed the first, though he hurtled through a different window, leaving a trail of shattered glass in his wake. One of the officers made a desperate dash onto the observation balcony, heading towards the one turreted gun mounted on the balcony's railing. An agile brown streak vaulted after the officer onto the balcony, kicking him off - he gave a scream as he went over the railing. A pile of stormtroopers tried to rush out in pursuit, but Vader was already jumping forward, gripping the handles of the turret. It was already spitting blaster bolts as he kicked off the edge of the balcony, clinging onto the handles and hanging off of them as the gun swung around to catch the regiment of stormtroopers pouring onto the balcony.

He kicked a moment in midair before finally dropping to the ground, and then turning around, lightsabers lit, to stare down the troops.

"Well? Are you coming?" His tone was sharp and sarcastic. It was all they needed to start moving, scrambling up out of the trench, kicking up clumps of sod in their wake.

The only complaint the troops had afterwards was that Vader hadn't left any fun for them when they finally got there.


	31. Mitigating Circumstance

"All of this for an order to an art dealer," Leia sighed.

She knew the importance of it very well, which was why she only muttered underneath her breath. A coordinated attack, a precision strike, the fleet around Salucami... all for an order to an art dealer. _Admiral Thrawn's_ order to his personal art dealer. It didn't even make the meeting among Rebellion leaders any more interesting.

"...Grave statuette from Boz Pity -?"

"Cross-referencing earlier orders, it's to complete a set. No surprises there. Please continue, Commodore."

"Of course, General Madine. I think the more interesting entries are at the bottom of the list." The bothan tapped at the edge of his datapad. "Tied seaweed macrame from Mon Calamari, taken from the remnants of Tarkin's personal connection..."

"It appears you're getting some attention, Admiral Ackbar," Vader commented smoothly.

Apparently the council - or at least the Admiral - was, amazingly, on good enough terms with Vader to actually give a small laugh. Leia had heard that apparently Vader had caught Ackbar in the elevator and said, with apparent sincerity, that it was an honor to be serving with him. There was an odd gentlemen's agreement in that admission. Both of them knew each other from the battlefield, and in that raw honesty borne of conflict, there was respect.

"The next entries we believe are connected to you, Commander," the Commodore said, nodding towards Vader.

General Madine leaned in a little, resting his forearms on the meeting table. "We believe he's casting a wide net, since little is known about your early life. Thrawn has ordered an ornamental Lorridan knife, a Miralukan headdress, a Chandrilan data-dagger - though we think that may be in reference to you, Mon Mothma - and several holo-reproductions of Mandalorian ceremonial masks."

"Mandalorian?" Vader gave a wide smirk. "Completely off-target, but certainly flattering."

"There is one entry that we're mystified by. Thrawn has ordered a wide lot of twenty decorative gaffi sticks from Tatooine, but with deliberate orders to his art dealer. He only wants the most cheaply-made of them - counterfeits for that price, surely."

Madine and the others didn't seem to notice, but Leia did catch a glimpse of Vader's hands, twisting into tense, closed fists. Of course, not being a Tatooine native, Leia did not know that whatever small tourist trade Mos Eisley managed to support thrived on fake tschotskes supposedly from Tusken Raiders... and that every forgery was inevitably produced by a miserable slave, trying to scrape together whatever meager credits they could to try and buy their freedom. Leia did not know that Thrawn's shot in the dark had actually found its target.

Vader certainly did not let any of this show in his expression. He merely gave a derisive snort. "Ignore it. Thrawn is expecting us to be so intrigued by this inconsistency that we send resources to Tatooine. It's an obvious ruse. If he actually was chasing a serious lead, Thrawn would have spent a proper amount of money, not gone bargain-hunting."

"Thank you for the insight, Commander Vader." Madine gave a curt nod before looking around the conference table. "The plan goes on as usual, then. Grand Admiral Thrawn will be lured to Salucami, and met by our forces here, where we will follow Vader's strategy." Madine peered at Vader out of the corner of his eye. "Though curiosity is mounting as to what exactly that strategy is."

"All in due time. I have Admiral Ackbar's assurance that if I deal with Thrawn's flagship, the rest of the battle will go smoothly."

"I'm starting to doubt you even know how to deal with such a master strategist," Leia said snidely, unable to keep quiet any longer.

The smile that crossed over Vader's face was downright maddening. "The same way you deal with any master strategist, Princess. You cheat."

She openly rolled her eyes at this, and Mon Mothma cleared her throat. Despite Vader's smugness, the meeting still had to go on. "I have one more order of business, not on the schedule - a recent development. I was recently contacted by a member of the Black Hand - the same who contacted us earlier, in fact. She will now be working with the Rebel Alliance directly as a liaison between the two groups, as the Black Hand is wanting to liquidate and consolidate resources against the Empire. I believe she should be here now - please welcome Ahsoka Tano."

The doors at the end of the meeting hall opened, and a togruta woman strode through after a moment, her long and complicated robes fluttering around her. Vader had been nearly lounging in a decidedly cocksure manner, but he immediately sat up, back perfectly straight, eyes locking with her own. There was a polite round of applause.

"It will be an honor working with all of you, I'm sure," she said demurely.

"I believe you already know many here," Mon Mothma said pleasantly, though in a measured manner, obviously looking to see the responses of those in the room. "As I remember, you told me you are already well acquainted with Commander Vader."

"Indeed I am." A pleasant smile crossed her face, and she gracefully sat at the end of the table. "I knew him when we were both... children, you could say."

The tension between the two of them was nearly visible. It certainly gave the room a smothering feel, to the point where even Leia caught herself holding her breath. Neither of their faces betrayed any of their history, instead perfectly neutral - too neutral, posed like statues.

"I believe that is the last order of business, and we can now declare this meeting adjourned," Mon Mothma said pleasantly. "Thank all of you for your time, and may the Force be with all of us."

Leia was only too happy to rush out of the room with the rest, fleeing the tension in the room, escaping the crushing feeling too similar to a sinus headache before a thunderstorm. Vader rose, but the togruta did not. He did not exit with the rest. Instead he made sure the door was thoroughly closed, listening to the quiet snap of the lock before finally turning to face Ahsoka, sitting down at the table, directly across from her.

"Not how you expected this meeting to happen, I suppose," she said slyly.

"Not under these circumstances, no."

Their breaths were even and measured - too even, in fact - as they stared each other down.

"How much have you told them, Ahsoka?"

"I assume since we're on the same side... again... we can work together as professionals."

"_How much have you told them._"

She smiled beautifully. "Nothing of any consequence." His eyes narrowed, and she leaned in, lacing her hands together and resting them on the table. "We both know that Snips and Sky-guy died in order 66. In fact, we both know they died slow... painful... bloody deaths. Don't we?"

"Indeed. We do."

The conversation seemed to be almost entirely unspoken, cobalt meeting pale blue: the churning horizon where storming sea met wide sky.

"Good." Vader stood, turning on his heel. "Try to stay out of my way."

She watched him leave, remaining seated, but her disturbingly pleasant smile almost seemed to follow him out the door.


	32. Interlude I

((Every-so-often I'm going to step away from the story a bit to give a lighthearted chapter, as much as I can. A smaller, sillier chapter to break up the tension, in other words. If you like your fanfiction all serious business, you can feel free to skip this. Don't take it too seriously.

We'll get back to the regularly scheduled epic adventure very soon; right now I'm looking for a quasi-beta-reader to help me sort out where the story's flow because I want to make sure it's at its best when I write it! Thank you all so much for your patience!))

* * *

"So apparently it's not dignified for an Emperor's Hand to spend all day on the holonet," Mara Jade sighed. "And if I play one more game of Angry Mynocks, I'm going to be sick. No, literally: I will vomit all over the holoscreen." She gestured widely for emphasis after setting down a pile of machinery with a thunk. "Or kill something. I'm not sure. Maybe both. But really, I don't want _that_to be my legacy. Mara Jade the Vomitous, Sith Lady who Kills People With Her Puke."

Luke Skywalker gave one solid, slow blink, watching her set up the equipment in front of him.

Truthfully, Mara was nearly at the end of her rope. She was now quite certain that the Emperor was only doing this to her as a sick test to see which of them would crack first. With the newest round of increased drugs, Skywalker was even less interesting to look at, which was a minor miracle: she hadn't thought such a thing possible. And to add insult to injury, her holonet access had been cut off. The Empire named it a security risk.

But damned if she would use to a drooling lump of farmboy.

Instead the holoscreen viewer was plopped onto the floor right in front of Luke, and she was busily hooking it up into working order. "So if anyone asks, which they won't, because you won't be able to respond, you'll just drool on them or something - _if anyone asks_, this is torture." She showed off the stack of datadiscs she had procured. "I specifically went through and picked out all the things I imagine you would loathe." Grinning, she opened the first case and settled down beside him, though she happily plucked away what passed for a blanket and pillow from him.

Strangely, although he sat there in a miserable, drugged lump, limp like a marionette with the strings cut, he seemed almost... glad for the company.

"I've had this on order for ages. It came out right before I went out chasing you to Tatooine, and I didn't get to see it properly, but it's supposed to be fantastic. Fabulous costume holovid. Heavy on the Imperial propaganda, of course." She shoved the datadisc into the player, and the opening fanfare started up.

"Oh, yes. I forgot." She grinned widely, adding with relish: "it's a _musical_."

She noticed that he didn't seem displeased. Oh well. That would surely change in time.

* * *

Several hours later, Mara Jade leaned back to lightly bonk her head against the wall.

"Okay. All right. I give in. I can't - I can't stand any more episodes of Manaan Shore." She gave a long sigh. "Or another romantic comedy. I am so tired of wacky situations and crazy hijinks. And, besides, that one with the two senator interns? That was just _way_ too conceited," she added, becoming more enthusiastic. "And the jerk won out in the end. I can't stand that when it happens. The other man was obviously _so _much better for her." She paused. "I'm overthinking this, aren't I?"

She gave Luke a shifty glare out of the corner of her eye. "Are you feeling tortured yet?"

He blinked slowly, barely raising an eyebrow.

"Angry? Frustrated? ...Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Blink blink.

"Will you at least give me mildly inconvenienced?"

Blink.

"I guess that's progress," she sighed. "I know I can do better. I'm the Emperor's Hand, for Force's sake!" Her eyebrows knit in frustration. "At the very least, I'm going to... I know. I'm going to order in dinner. No rehydrated army rations. Tender, tasty bantha meat in a sandwich, Corellian-style. All the fresh fixings of course. And I'll order an ale. A _good_ ale. Then I'll eat it all in front of you when you're stuck with intravenous nutrients because of all that sedation." Mara Jade grinned gloatingly, leaning over to poke him on the shoulder. "_Ha._ What do you think of _that_!"

A moment of silence.

"Oh, stop - stop looking at me like that. It's not going to work," Mara said, momentarily full of bluster. "That kath-puppy-eyes thing. I am not falling for it._Absolutely not._So you can just give up on that tactic right now." A heavy blush was creeping up on her neck, turning her ears pink. "Besides, you're not even rather handsome anymore. You're just a... lump of farmboy. Drooling lump of farmboy. So don't get any delusions that I think anything different of you."

She stuck her feet out and looked around the barren cell (which had been made not quite so barren, thanks to her bringing in many blankets and pillows... only for her, of course).

"And stop leaning on me like that. It's not going to work. You're just being obnoxious now. And if you're doing it to try and look down my cleavage, I swear, I will_end you_." Mara huffed. "All right, you don't really have other things to lean against. Maybe you can have one pillow. Just one. The lumpiest and most wretched."

* * *

Several days later, Luke Skywalker - for all his other misery - actually looked somewhat comfortable, having flopped over onto a makeshift bed of pillows. It was almost a nest, and it certainly was cozy, though Mara Jade was still getting the best of it, even as she sat backwards with her legs outstretched on the wall while laying on the floor.

There was a small musical riff from the holoprojector as the show cut out for another commercial break.

"Sithspit, that Jeremy really is a bastard," Mara said lazily in-between pieces of popcorn.

A single, enthusiastic blink.


	33. Grand Épreuve

"She's adorable! You must be _so proud_... how old is she now?"

Ahsoka smiled widely as the trooper thrust his chest out a little more. Three days in and already the assigned Rebel troops had settled into trusting the new togruta. Whatever reservations she had, Leia had to admit that Ahsoka had a natural rapport with them. Her dossier was certainly impressive: Leia paused to bring it up once more on her datapad.

Ahsoka Tano. Known aliases of Breddan Tiju and Ziva Kiure. The recovered dossier from the Republic was full of glowing praise. A battlefied commendation at fourteen. Notes of distinguished service in what seemed to be like every major battle of the Clone Wars... a special award of gratitude from Tango Company. The only sanction seemed to be against an apparent recklessness - but Leia reminded herself of the other woman's age. Being overly bold at fifteen? Sounded about right. After all, Leia remembered ringing in her fifteenth birthday with a screaming argument in the Junior Senate that took the next two years to fully apologize for. Representing a system in politics was bad enough. It was hard to imagine leading an attachment of troops into battle, making split-second decisions of life or death.

And now the woman was sitting three tables away, leaning in to look at the holovid as the trooper played it back again. "Look at those cheeks! I bet you're the proudest uncle here."

"Damn straight! My sister promised me another holovid tonight. She's walking already. Walking! Took her first steps! Can you believe it?"

"It's amazing how they grow so quickly. When I was teaching on Kant - out with the small settlement - it was always such a joy to see how quickly they all grew. You asked me to help come up with a birthday present for her, right? There's this wonderful educational toy - handmade out of wood, but not that expensive..."

The happily animated conversation continued, and Leia looked back to her datapad, tapping at it; Ahsoka's dossier danced off the screen. Leia still had the sense that the document was heavily redacted and edited, but given that it was recovered from the Empire's hands, she expected nothing less. For all the trouble Vader had given them settling in, Ahsoka was amazingly pleasant to be around. She actually _wanted_to be respected as a person on some fundamental level that Vader didn't. Maybe it was initial saccharine snake-oil and good first impressions, but Leia knew a good thing when she saw it. For right now, she would enjoy the relative calm.

A small chime at her wrist chirped incessantly, and she groaned lightly as she pushed herself up. Another alarm for yet another meeting. Even though this was her native territory, Leia was starting to get more than slightly tired of plotting strategy. Thrawn had conservatively kept back: Saleucami wasn't a trap as much as it was an invitation. Apparently the Chiss mastermind was being coquettish. At least it afforded them plenty of gallows humor about how the Rebellion needed to add more romance to their obvious ambushes. But there was always another avenue, always another plan...

...always another _meeting_.

Maybe this one would have a fresh pot of stimcaf.

Vader turned into the corridor moments after she did, and he settled in to walking beside her, likely only to aggravate her further. Instead Leia put on her best pleasant smile. "Commander."

"Princess." A curt half-nod.

"I'd been meaning to speak with you, actually. Off the record." One eyebrow slowly raised as they walked along the corridor. "Your honest opinion on Tano. Not that your word is worth much, but she seems almost too good to be true."

A slight smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. "We can trust her," he said after a moment before adding the words that Leia was expecting and dreading: "...for now."

Not what she wanted to hear, but it would do, especially coupled with the knowledge that Vader had to sit in the same meeting with her for the next few hours. Ahsoka was also there - smiling and gracious, though she locked eyes with Vader a moment as she sat down before turning to her left and fixing a cup of stimcaf for Crix Madine. Vader's figure looming at the end of the table didn't stop the rest of them from making pleasant small talk until the lights dimmed and the center console flickered on, revealing a holofeed of a female Quarren in a ragtag uniform.

"Mon Mothma, General, Princess - honored guests - thank you for meeting with me. The situation here on Taris has become significantly more dire." She put her hands on her hips before pausing. "Sorry. Should introduce myself. Zasi Kuneo, lieutenant of the Shadowed Beks. We've been working with Tano for the last few months making sure Taris is ready to fall into Republic hands..."

"We're familiar with what's been done, Kuneo." Madine's tone was perhaps a little too strong, and the Quarren looked flustered.

Fortunately Ahsoka was there with a quick smile to pave over the situation. "Please, Zasi, continue. I know you wouldn't be looking to us unless the situation warrants it."

"It _is_ fairly dire. The Imperial remnant has more support than we expected. The Volka are pushing a new candidate for Moff, and they've introduced their prize for this Grand Prix... supposedly just a data-dagger, but we have it on good sources that the data it's made out of contains proof of the Beks working with the Rebellion. The public already knows, and doesn't really care - but it'd be the excuse the Empire is waiting for to fully back the Volka. And that's just what we_know_of. If the security breech is already that large..."

Leia's mouth drew into a thin frown. "I see. So we have no choice but to try and recover this data-dagger."

"That would be the problem." Zasi looked anxiously to Ahsoka, the only familiar face of the bunch. "There's one shot - one - _maybe_ - where we could have a chance of flashing the data-dagger's memory. Actually stealing it would be far too risky. The entire room of prizes are going to be under heavy lock and key, but hypothetically a small strike team could plant an electromagnetic pulse mine near enough to scramble the data... at least partially. It'd be a suicide mission at_best_. The Beks are willing to give up the men, but _we can't do this alone._...We need the Rebellion's help."

"And you'll get it," Mon Mothma said gently. Madine nodded in agreement, and the Quarren immediately relaxed, looking almost ready to burst into tears. "We can't devote a huge amount of resources, but Taris has the possibility for being a major safe haven and nexus of Rebellion power. It would be a cornerstone world to surrounding development."

"I'm willing to lead the strike team myself," Zasi said immediately. "This is too important. Losses are going to be high, but the Beks can deal with that. The Rebellion just needs to provide some sort of distraction for long enough that if we get the charges set..."

From the other end of the table, the sound of a clearing through cut the Quarren off. Vader's tone was typically dry and impatient. "If you're done with the martyr act, we can get to the obvious solution and stop wasting time."

The Quarren on the holofeed flinched, eyes going wide. "Commander Vader - my apologies, I had forgotten -"

"You had forgotten to pretend you have a brain in your skull, yes, I am aware." He leaned forward in his chair, straightening from where he had leaned back to look over the proceedings with an almost lordly air, arms crossed over his chest. "Instead of making this complicated so we can play at being heroes, we can actually achieve our goal. Or just fail in a way that will look quite nice on the holovid news later." Nobody volunteered the supposedly obvious answer, not even when Vader's expression seemed to suggest that their stupidity was causing him physical pain.

"It is _incredibly simple_. **We win the race.**"

There was a moment of silence before the Quarren gave an awkward, braying laugh. "No - no way. The Volka have poured all their budget into the Grand Prix, and that's forgetting about _all_ of the other gangs. We all know that if you win the Grand Prix, _you win Taris_-"

"So we win Taris."

"With _what?_ The Beks don't have that sort of money laying around - maybe, _maybe_if the Claren had been recovered from your possessions, Commander Vader -"

His expression was inscrutable as always, but Leia could see a manic gleam in his pale blue eyes. It made her understandably nervous. "I assume from the race's importance that the Beks do have swoop bikes to enter into it. Several, most likely."

"Well - yes, but - "

"Good. I'll need two days of lead time. I'll pilot the swoop bike. The data-dagger can be recovered from the prizes afterwards, and popular support will ensure Taris joins the rebellion." Lightly dusting himself off, Vader stood. "There. It's decided. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to go do something that's actually useful."

As he swept out the door, Leia exchanged a glance with Ahsoka. The Quarren was also staring at her. Apparently she had abruptly become resident expert... and she didn't seem to be too concerned. "Well, in all honesty, it's a decent plan." Fortunately, after seeing the expressions on Mon Mothma, Madine and Leia's faces, she quickly continued: "But I'll work out a backup with the strike team. Have you considered the Grand Prix itself as a diversion...?"

"Another cup?" Madine said dryly, reaching over to pour himself one, offering it out to Leia.

"Yes, please. I have a feeling we're going to need a lot of this..."


	34. Ambitious But Rubbish

The overhead lights slowly turned on, bank after bank flickering with a soft buzz.

Zasi sighed, stepping aside the garage to let Leia file in, Vader after him, and then several other Rebels. Lando had insisted on coming along, though Leia suspected it was more for the glitter and glitz of the Tarisian Grand Prix, especially since he was relaxing with the few other Rebel soldiers that had come along. The vast majority of the forces were with Ahsoka at the carefully planned and structured mission. Leia was sure she would hear near-endless grumbling over the next few days from the troops about how they were on guard duty instead of anything more glamorous and exciting.

"It's not very much, but it's all the Shadowed Beks have." The quarren sighed. "That's the best swoop we have - and two more. If you need to strip them for parts, it's understandable, but if it's possible we'd rather have them intact so the Beks can at least have a showing..."

Vader said nothing, merely stepping into the wide garage, slowly pacing around the prized swoop as if it were some prey he was about to pounce upon.

"If there's any tools or parts that are needed - I'm not sure how much of a budget the Rebellion has for this operation, but we can send Bek runners for anything you need... familiar faces will keep suspicion down. And if -"

"No, this will do."

The quarren blinked slowly at Vader. "...er. I mean no disrespect, but - you haven't even looked in the cabinets yet, sir."

He gestured out towards one of the counters. "The stimcaf machine is in the garage instead of in some breakroom. That shows that someone competent has actually put in the hours here instead of pretending to work." He paused in front of the swoop, staring it down before going over and deftly ripping off an entire side-panel.

Leia saw the quarren flinch as if someone had just hit her across the face. "What - what are you _doing?_"

"Shedding weight." The panel hit the floor with a loud clatter, and Vader wasted no time, reaching into the machine to continue unhooking systems and tossing them aside. "Basic rule of racing. If the Beks don't know that, it explains why you've been doing so abysmally in races."

"You do realize this is a... an open-rules race. You're stripping out the blaster turrets! _All the other racers_ will have weapons - you're stripping out the armor shielding - the crowd's not going to be satisfied unless there's at least one dogfight and racers _die_!"

"Miss... Zasi, was it? I trust you know who I am." He reached to his belt, and the red lightsaber blade snapped out into the air. "This is all I need. This... and two hours of uninterrupted working time." He finally looked back to the group as he twisted a dial on the lightsaber, the blade retracting to a small glowing nub perfect for cutting the heavy shielding free. "That was your cue to leave, by the way."

Leia got the point. And they left.

-

A few hours later, Lando Calrissian flopped down on the wide couch beside Leia. The accommodations were rather nice, even for the lower levels of Taris. The Shadowed Beks were progeny of one of the oldest gangs, and had the status and power to prove it. This meant that the wait leading up to the Taris Grand Prix was at least comfortable. She had been invited to sabacc games at least five times over the last day, but she preferred to review her reports from the rest of the Rebellion in peace. If it wasn't for the mounting anxiousness, it would have been a nice little vacation.

As Lando sat, her eyes flicked over to catch his expression - one of rattled despair. "What is it? Lose the latest sabacc game?"

"No..." Lando shook his head. "I went down to the garage. It's..."

Leia put down her datapad, immediately standing.

"No. No, you don't want to go see it. Trust me. _You don't want to go see it._"

"You realize that means I'm going to go to the garage immediately," Leia said with a smirk, dusting herself off.

"You really don't want to see what Vader's done to that speeder." Lando grimaced.

Leia just grinned. "If I'm not back in fifteen, go charge at Vader with blasters drawn."

It was good to stretch her legs, and she was in a good mood right up until the point the doors to the garage opened.

"...What in the seven hells of Corellia..."

To say it was a swoop bike was now somewhat inaccurate. There was the skeleton of a swoop, suspended from the ceiling with various ropes and supports. And there was a massive mess of... everything else. The engine itself was half disassembled on the floor, and all the boosters were half-on. Vader himself was hanging off of part of the rigging, knees hooked around part of the frame, suspended in midair. Rather gracefully, he leaned back, stretching upside-down to pluck yet another part from the floor. He obviously hadn't slept, his goatee was framed by stubble, and there was a smear of oil underneath one eye like war-paint. His hands were similarly covered in grease - it was the first time in a long while that she had seen him with his gloves off.

But the swoop... the swoop was just in bits all across the garage.

"You do realize that I can't work with interruptions," Vader said dryly, though his tone was obviously distracted as he examined several bolts, finding exactly the right one with deft and nimble fingers.

A small, shocked laugh spilled out of Leia's mouth. Dizzily, she made her way to the small stimcaf machine, pulling a mug out of the cabinet for herself and pouring a cup. "You do realize that the race is _tomorrow_, and you really do need a swoop to compete. They won't take it well if you show up and try to do the course on foot."

"Actually, Princess, I have until the end of the parade lap to get onto the course. That's more than enough time." Still that distant tone that let her know his attention was mostly elsewhere.

She sighed, putting down her cup and gesturing towards him. "I doubt that. You can't re-assemble this swoop _and_ get a decent night's sleep. Have you even been stopping to _eat_? At least choke down a few of those awful ration bars. Believe it or not, I don't want to see you become a smear on some Tarisian race course because you were too busy to take decent care of yourself..."

"I have plenty of stimcaf. I'll be fine." Leia shook her head at this, turning around to grab one of the mugs of stimcaf on the counter. "There will be time to rest when - _that's my cup of -_"

It was a second too late. Leia had already taken a sip and immediately spluttered, coughing and squinting. "That - that is NOT stimcaf! _That is sugar that happens to be black._" Leia grimaced. "How can you DRINK this? It's... ugh!"

Vader actually surfaced from his work long enough to glare at her, snatching the cup from her hands using the Force, curled halfway to sitting, suspended from the rigging still. He finished off the mug before leaning backwards to set it on the floor and pick up another spanner. Leia made a series of faces before grabbing her own cup of stimcaf and drinking deeply to wash the sugar-sweetness away. It was not how she predicted Vader would take his stimcaf, but now that she knew...

He didn't say anything more. Perhaps there was a witty comeback, but he promptly forgot it as he sat up, perched on the skeleton frame of the swoop and diving into the guts of the machine yet again.

Leia watched him for a moment. It was actually comforting. She studied his face, not his hands. It was subtle, but it was there: he was happy. Underneath the frown of concentration was simple, childish joy. This is what he loved to do. Gears and bolts didn't argue. Engines did not have emotions. Electrical current went where it was directed. It was a world he was in control of, and it was something he understood. Behind the bluster and imposing blackness was a little boy who liked having all his spanners in a row, who just wanted to fix things and make them work and be useful again. Maybe the man he had grown into was a destroyer, but all the child wanted was to mend the world around him.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to work," she said airily.

"Mmn." It was barely an acknowledgement. He was busy working, spanner in his mouth as he reached deep into the machinery.

That was good enough.


	35. Some Say

All things considered, Leia thought they had found a nice spot to watch the race.

Yes, it was one of those bars that usually catered to crime lords and other people of technically illegal profession, but Leia was starting to get used to that; after all, the Rebellion was more or less in the same lot. This at least aimed to the classier sort of outlaws, which was why Lando was completely in his element, schmoozing with the crowd. She had seen him flirt with at least three women (and two twi'leks) already, and they had only been in the bar ten minutes. But it would be only a half-hour until the race started, and they had prime seats in the box attached to the bar for the main event. The skybox meant that all they could see were colorful specks, but the plethora of screens would more than make up for it.

She had _almost_ been feeling confident: the finished speeder actually looked quite elegant, in its own way, and Vader had actually gotten four hours of sleep. He claimed it would be more than enough, and Leia had been honestly quite amused at seeing him sleeping stretched out on another one of the speeders, enjoying the plush seat, resting his arms on the handlebars and head propped up by his hands. In fact, Leia felt quite cheerful up until she saw the constantly updating board of odds right next to the droids and scantily-clad girls ready to accept bets. 'Unidentified Racer - Rebel Alliance' was solidly placed in the bottom third, with extremely low odds.

"Well, it could be worse," she said bravely. "500 credits on the Rebel racer to win, please."

The twi'lek girl twittered a little. "Oh, that's not the odds for winning, ma'am. That's the odds for surviving the race! Just a moment and I'll pull up the odds for_winning_. ...There you go!"

Three spots away from dead last. Well. It could be worse. She supposed.

"Still want to place that bet?" The twi'lek fluttered her false eyelashes.

"On second thought, I'll just... I'll spend those credits on another drink."

"Wise idea, ma'am! The bar's just over there but you can place your order at any kiosk and a waitress droid will bring it right out!"

Leia somewhat dizzily turned around to go find their private skybox, flopping into one of the seats and massaging her temples. She wouldn't get out of this without a headache, that was for sure. Just as long as she got out of this without having to plan a funeral. At least she could count on Ahsoka's team, their mission already underway to gather Imperial data, ready at the first mention of trouble to swoop in and enact plan B. She slyly looked at the menu on a holoscreen built into the comfortable chair's armrest, and debated with herself what to order. By the time Lando had shed the last of his adoring female fans, the race was nearing its start, and she was sipping her drink.

"Corellian iced tea?" He raised an eyebrow, half-grinning. "I think Han's rubbing off on you. Isn't that a mixture of at least seven types of hard liquor?"

"Sixteen, actually, at this bar," she said smoothly, taking another sip.

"Do you always drink like this, or just on special occasions?" he teased.

"Only when I'm stuck holding Vader's leash," Leia said morosely before taking a gulp and immediately regretting it. The burning sensation went straight down her throat onto her cheeks in a heavy, alcohol-induced blush.

The skybox looked down on the immense stadium, packed full of what easily could have been a quarter of Taris' population. Colorful banners wove through the crowd, held aloft, half of them made of cloth or paper and half made of elaborate holodisplays. The large screens around the stadium constantly refreshed with new angles of the racers lining up at the start as cameras whizzed in dizzy patterns all around them. Leia could even see a few of the elaborate faux-skyhooks, massive repulsorlifts outfitted with small gardens where the elite of Taris milled about with drinks in hand; with their vantage points so mobile, they could lazily move around the track to keep the racers in view. Leia was instead quite content with the skybox.

Somewhat anxiously, she watched the screens as the cameras panned over the racers. All of the swoops lined up so far were intimidating, loaded down with heavy shielding systems and blaster arrays. It was that much more shocking when Vader finally made his way onto the track. She recognized him immediately - plain white jumpsuit, accented with an armband bearing the Rebel Alliance's starbird in red. In mockery of warpaint, three red slashes accented the eyes of the plain helm on either cheek. Hidden completely from view, there was certainly something more Vaderlike about him than usual, even if being clad in white instead of black brought about an entirely different effect. He drew stares as he led the swoop through the other racers.

Compared to the other swoops, it was small. In fact, it was minuscule. There were no obvious weapons systems or shield generators, which was completely unheard of, given the nature of the bloodbath Taris called a race. Leia glanced out of the corner of her eye at a nearby holodisplay, watching the odds that Vader would survive plummet until he was dead last below the clearly-marked novices.

With a sigh, she found the right button on her comm set. "Vader, are you sure this will work? You seem to have brought a knife to a blaster fight."

She saw him raise his hand to his helm as he responded, busily setting up the flag on the back of his swoop for the parade lap. "I prefer to think of it more like bringing an X-wing against an orbiting battle station. I was led to believe that was the Rebellion way, after all. Besides..." He grunted a little, fitting the plain flag on more properly. "With my lightsaber, I _already_ bring a knife to every blaster fight."

Leia's mouth drew into a tight, humorless smile and she reached again for her drink. Vader was in a _good mood_. Force preserve them all.

Down in the arena, Vader slowly wound the light swoop around its tank-like competition. There would be a good enough spot - visible, yet out of the way of the main packs of Taris gangs fighting for control. The Grand Prix was as much about politics as it was about racing, though with all the weaponry on almost every swoop, it was perhaps less a race and more like gladiatorial combat.

Vader thought he couldn't be more excited.

Very pointedly, he made sure his swoop lingered next to the official Imperial entrant. Behind his goggles, the other man glowered at him, huffily making sure the bland grey banner behind him was completely straight. His goal in the race was very obviously to not die - winning was out of the question - but he was there as a token effort from the Empire to show that they at least had some political clout left on Taris. Behind the safety of the helm and its shaded visor, Vader carefully examined the man.

He gave a haughty huff. "I could have you arrested for treason right now, you know."

It took Vader only a moment to confirm his suspicions on the holonet, and he flipped his visor up. "I'm sure you could. But where would be the fun in that, Lieutenant Aran?"

Immediately the other man sat up a little straighter. "Lieutenant-Commander Aran now, actually," he said with a haughty sniff. Vader knew full well of the promotion: it was mainly to keep the brat out of harm's way. His father was one of the top men of the local Moff, and his entire career had been based riding on his father's coattails.

"I'm surprised, given your performance aboard the _Executor_." Immediately Aran's face flushed and then drained of color as embarrassment gave way to fear. Oh yes, both of them remembered the incident quite well: the navigation error would have been fatal, had it not been caught by another officer.

"That was stricken from my record," he spluttered. No doubt one of the terms of his exile to Taris. "Besides. How would you know about that? If you're some sort of _spy_..."

"I know about it because I was the one responsible for making sure you never stepped a foot aboard the _Executor_ again."

The last remaining bits of color dripped out of the Imperial Lieutenant's face, and he froze like a startled wild animal. He only became more pale as Vader leaned in, whisper coy and full of false sweetness. "So good to see you got over that fractured hyoid bone. I do hope the bruises didn't linger for too long."

As he drew away, Aran was already starting to pant in panic. He flicked the visor down and continued walking the speeder through the crowd, but he could still hear the Lieutenant's voice as he warblingly yelled into his comm line. "Sir? I can't - I can't do this, sir, I have to - _I have to pull out of the race_, you don't_understand!_ - I don't care if it's too late to pull out, I refuse, I can't do this -"

A slight bit of guilt gnawed at Vader even as he walked away. But what was a race without some pre-game trash-talking?

The Tarisian anthem began to blare over the loudspeakers, and as he finally mounted the swoop, he could hear the race announcer. "Welcome to the five-hundred-and-seventh annual Taris Grand Prix!" The crowd's cheering overwhelmed the sound of even the motors as the group of racers began to lurch forward, each building up enough speed to make sure their various banners and flags were shown off. "I'm Jezza Klark, your host tonight! Fifty racers are primed and ready for tonight's entertainment!" Most of the gang members were waving; a few were notably besieged by tossed tokens from adoring fans. While an especially handsome (he supposed, anyway) young man blew kisses at a wave of screaming girls leaning over the ledge and nearly falling into the raceway, Vader flinched, a wayward offering managing to stick to his helm. ...Panties. Pink mesh with little bow-ties on the skimpy, stringy sides. ...Cute, maybe? Not like he really kept up with the trends in that department. Vader tried not to think too hard about where they had just been before flinging them off so that they could distract some other swoop racer.

"Quick reminder, everyone, betting is closed at the end of the parade lap, so get in those last minute wagers!"

It was a drastically shortened course for the parade lap - into the pit lanes and out again, really, but the course itself was long, and Vader understood the logic. As they filtered through back into view, flags removed and settling into their assigned positions, the other racers began to rev their massive engines. The furious roar echoed off the walls of the stadium.

And it was one of the most beautiful sounds Vader had ever heard.

Not that his swoop could contribute much to the noise. Of course not. He would leave the sound and fury to the rest of the idiots. Who needed a massive engine when you could be light and quick... and dodge with supernatural ability, thanks to the Force?

The announcer's voice was completely drowned out, but every eye was fixed on the starting lights. A steady countdown began, a wide half-circle of lights going from blue to red as the arc grew steadily smaller and smaller. Vader pawed at the handlebars, making sure his grip was firm. And he would later be unashamed to admit that underneath the helm, he was grinning like a madman.

The arc of lights filtered down into three illuminated ovals.

For a moment there was nothing else. Just him, the swoop, and the sound of the blood rushing in his ears... and the Force. As excited as he was, it was only natural to reach out to it for the sort of strength and resolute determination that came from calm.

A soft beep that nobody heard. Three lights became two.

Up in the skybox, Leia leaned forward in her seat, biting her lip, drink completely forgotten.

Two lights became one.

The entire arena collectively held their breaths. Every racer stared as if willing the last light to fade.

"Aaaand..." The announcer's voice could finally be heard above the roar of the engines.

One light became none.

"...**GO!**"


	36. How Hard Can It Be?

The race's start was rather boring, from Vader's point of view.

The front swoops were first off the line, engines thundering, but the progression was sluggish as it dwindled down to the lesser racers. By the time it reached him, he started at an aggravating crawl before finally gaining speed. As the swoops gained some distance from one another, there was enough room for him to open up the throttle and begin to weave in and out between them. The tension was thick, full of cutting glares as the other racers with old rivalries and gang allegiances sized each other up. It was a temporary truce. Vader knew that at any moment the first shot would be fired - the first match into a powderkeg - and it would only be up to his skill and dexterity to keep him from becoming a charred smear of blood. That was completely discounting all other booby-traps and weaponry that they had managed to tack on to their speeders. Perhaps there was some unspoken rule that they would wait until the first hairpin - he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the course was long and twisting, going through the heart of the near-perpetual Taris city, and he was looking forward to every curve.

It took a moment's fiddling, but he did manage to tune in to the announcer's obnoxious commentary through the in-helm comm. "...a very exciting race for you today! Half the course is under construction so it's a playground for our racers, if they can dodge the debris! In addition, the course has been enhanced with several new obstacles, such the newest, coming up _right_ around this next bend - the _fire trap!_"

There was half a second's pause as Vader squinted in thought and Leia leaned forward in her seat and clutched her armrests. Both father and daughter uttered the same phrase in the same indignant tone. "_FIRE TRAP?_"

The crowd gave an excited yell as the first pillar of fire came up, and Vader had dodged it even before he fully realized what had happened. The Force managed to steer him clear of it entirely. The other drivers were not so lucky as they entered the shining silver tunnel. Another large jet of fire leapt up at them, and a Bothan driver gave a shrill scream, unable to steer his heavy craft out of the way in time. He swerved in blind panic, catching another driver in the side; the spun out, and then more of the swoops were caught in the entanglement. While he could dodge in the nimble and light swoop, the heavier ones could not: it was a cruel test of shielding systems and of luck.

He could feel the heat of another jet even through the helmet. The plume of fire scorched the top of the gleaming silver tunnel, and another set of screams followed. By the time two more traps were triggered, Vader was sure he was in the upper third among the racers.

And suddenly the end of the tunnel was completely ablaze - a solid sheet of flames. Around him, racers desperately tried to pull up, and his heartbeat pounded in his throat: there was no stopping, not in time, and there was no dodging. There was only one thing to do, the same conclusion that others were reaching around him, but he didn't have the benefit of heavy shielding. Instead he just had his swoop.

...so he gunned it.

The flames rushed by him claustrophobically. Other riders thundered past, heavy engines growling.

Up in the skybox, Leia let out a heavy sigh of relief, flopping back into her chair. As she watched Vader take a few moments to realize his sleeve had caught on fire, she reached up to pinch her nose with a groan. Hadn't he learned _anything_ since Coruscant? At least there wasn't any room on the swoop for a passenger...

A dizzying array of billboards greeted him as he roared out with the rest of the pack onto the open straight.

"...and just a reminder that the fire trap was brought to you by Initech Solutions! We're down to twenty-four racers now, and medical droids are being dispatched to clear the field! There are no refunds for bets as they were locked in during the parade lap! Right! Now we have the top two gang-backed racers duking it out for first, how long will this truce end?"

Vader took a moment to blink and shake his head at the blur of neon now crowding in around them on either side. A hologram billboard of a dancing girl gave him a saucy wink, and there was a dull screaming cheer from the sidelines - fans who couldn't afford better seats but still shelled out ridiculous amounts of money to catch a glimpse of the racers. Already the Volva and Bek racers were staring each other down - the truce hadn't yet been broken, but he could see the dull glow of weapons systems heating up along the sides of their fortified speeders. All they needed was for someone to break that truce.

Vader thought he could help with that.

He drew alongside one of the Volka racers - a Hrathi woman. Her fur whipped around her goggles, and her pupils narrowed as she glared at him. Careful not to actually make contact, he moved over, crowding her closer and closer to the edge. Her ears went flat back against her skull in aggravation, and she tried to fight back, scraping his swoop in return, kicking up sparks. Underneath his helmet, he grinned as one of her tails puffed in fury. He saw her reach over to flip one of the switches on her wide, complicated dash. He pulled back, giving her some distance before crowding her again - daring her, taunting her. It was too much. With an angry growl, she fired the full set of blaster cannons along the side of her heavy swoop.

...except when the bolts hit, Vader wasn't there.

Instead they hit the tank of a swoop and its rider, one of the Soushi gang - a small splinter group trying to make a name for itself. The driver gave a bellow of fury and immediately returned fire. First blood had been drawn, and immediately the racecourse became crisscrossed with different blaster bolt fire. For anyone else it would have become a web of certain death, but Vader let the engine of his swoop roar, pressing forward. He knew where each thread of the net was before it was there; he knew where to turn - where to serve - which lanes were safe, and which were not. There were no other distractions. There was just him, the swoop - built by his hands, where he knew every bolt, every wire - and the Force.

It was perfect. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and the engine roared. There was no malice, there was no complex matter of morality hanging over him. There was only the perfect simplicity of winning.

He slipped through the firefight with ease, pulling ahead of the small pack. Now all of the drivers were becoming defensive, taking shots where they could while paranoid about dodging the attacks of others. It meant that apart from the occasional swerve, Vader was free to hit the apex of every corner, steadily climbing up the rankings.

A familiar swoop was ahead - the Imperial racer. The boy was doing quite well for himself, Vader had to admit, but he made the mistake of looking back, flinching in fear as he saw Vader. Immediately he tried to pull away, trembling slightly in fear, making the swoop swerve on the track. Now as they continued on through the city, the glitz slid away into heavy construction. A crane with a plastisteel pipe swayed over them, looming, before it finally creaked. Vader saw it fall ahead of him - a Volta rider swerved too hastily, slamming into the Imperial swoop. The Imperial rider was thrown clear, but into the path of another speeder who had equipped intimidating-looking bladed struts to her vehicle: one of them cut cleanly through the man's arm, and he gave a shrill scream of pain.

It happened before Vader was even fully conscious of it: going for the handbrake, pulling the swoop into a sharp j-turn. The man was in the middle of another anguished scream when Vader reached down, scooping him up neatly with one arm, cutting off the scream with a grunt. There was no time to think, just time to act - the Force, purely and simply guiding him. The other racers dodged them by inches as Vader cut across the field, taking the man to the sidelines where he was safe.

There wasn't even time for a quip about how Aran should pilot more safely next time. There was just making sure the other man was safe, and then his mind was focused once more on the race.

For a brief moment the crowd was silent, as if considering that they should feel guilt for their turning swoop racing into a blood sport. But it was a new excitement they had not felt before.

"We have a HERO, ladies and gentlemen! I can bet you all the credits you like that the Imperial racer wouldn't do the same!" The crowd roared in excitement, cheering him on with a distinctly lighter and more earnest air. Being glad in life was entirely different, after all, than being glad in death. "Now let's see if the Rebel can make up for all that lost time!"

And it _was_ a significant loss of time. He had been nearly in fifth place; now he had slid down to twelfth. Gritting his teeth, he urged the swoop onwards into the last part of the race - the tunnels.

The metal was far from shining; it was grungy after years of use and still smelled slightly of fuel, even if the tunnels had stood empty for decades. Each curve was blind, and blaster bolts ricocheted off the walls - it was taking more and more effort to dodge them as he whipped around the course, overtaking swoop after swoop. The dim lights illuminating the tunnel became streaks in his peripheral vision, each one blurring into the next. Fifth... fourth... third. The Volka rider gestured to him in what was undoubtedly a rude way, swerving so that he blocked every chance Vader got to pass - but managed to swerve directly into a pile of debris, making the swoop spin out. Fortunately at the start of the pack things were much more spaced out; there was little further danger to him.

And - another blind hairpin turn - overtaking quickly on the inside - second place.

Not that second place was good enough.

The first place swoop was a massive behemoth, the pride of the Volka gangs. It was halfway to a small fighter by now - certainly had more weaponry than a standard X-wing, as well as several heavy shield generators, all powered by a massive, roaring engine. The racer, a Toydarian, gave him a cutting glare out of the side of his goggles.

He was confident the Rebel wouldn't get past. The Volka were destined to win this race. Half a click and he would breeze past the finish line, and leave the Rebel to be forgotten, because nobody remembered runners-up. If the Rebel even tried to pass him, he had laser arrays ready to either side, to back, and to front -

...but not the ceiling.

Speed and gravitational force - perhaps with a little help from the Force proper - were enough to let Vader drive up the side of the tunnel to the very top. He spiraled around to land ahead of the Volka racer with a thump. Vader gave a small wince at the hard landing, sparks kicking up from where the swoop hit the metal floor. Oh, his back would definitely make him pay for that in the morning. But for _now_...

The Volka racer spat out curses, blaster bolts following, but it was mere child's play to dodge them. The flying cameras whirred around him, trying to catch a closeup of his face to display to the cheering masses. The tunnel widened - and widened -

Then sunlight blazed in his eyes - the loud cheering - and then - and _then_ -

Finish line.

"HE'S WON! HE'S DONE IT! The Rebel has won! The plucky bastard in the half-assed swoop has _done it!_"

The announcer's voice was going hoarse in his hysteria. The crowd screamed in excitement, and all at once, the screens and the holobanners of the crowd blazed alight with the same picture. The Rebel Alliance's starbird, blazing red on white. Leia was on her feet, screaming hysterically, hugging Lando before she even knew what she was doing. She was almost ready to give him a kiss in excitement before she remembered that she was a Princess and therefore had to be the most dignified one in the room full of riffraff.

They had done it. They had won.

Taris was the Rebellion's.


	37. And On That Bombshell

"What do you mean, you _quit?_" The plump Imperial paced in front of one of the exits of the stadium, yelling into his comlink. "It's the EMPIRE, you can't QUIT, Aran! I don't care what you think! The Empire is not some summer job, and your father can't - your father _will_ be hearing about this - " Behind him, the doors behind him were flung open, and the screaming, excitable crowd began to pour out. He was quick to move out of the way.

If there was one thing Taris loved more than an underdog, it was a winner. Divisions between gangs were forgotten, united in a common winner - and a common enemy. The excitement in the air was infectious to the point of being destructive. As the crowds swarmed through the city, the Rebel agents dissipated into it, services not needed after the victory. Ahsoka was smart. She knew an excited crowd was a resource to be used, like the rushing waters of a flood. It could be guided and manipulated for their purposes. The crowd just needed to be guided towards the right targets, since it was only a matter of time before someone lit a wick in their bottle of cheap liquor and tossed it through a window. Even the doubters loved the Rebellion after they broke into the main Imperial base. Nobody noticed Ahsoka as she snuck in to download the most valuable documents. They just cheered on the slicer that broke into their database of various fines and fees and automatically refunded every single one. Temporary loyalty was easy to buy, at least on Taris.

Stoic and silent, Vader made his way through back to the pits. Every news agency was armed with a camera droid, buzzing around him like a swarm of gnats as the reporters leaned in to shout questions. But he remained stoically silent, pushing his way through the crowd with a quiet grace. Desperate pleas for autographs were ignored from all sides.

When he finally did make his way back, both Leia and Lando were waiting for him... though Lando was quickly distracted: one of the rabid fans had decided the way to get attention was to strip off her shirt and press herself against the window.

As soon as he was out of view, Vader took off the helmet, shaking off his hair. "If you're interested, Calrissian, feel free. Wear it and I'm sure they won't notice the difference." He tossed it over and Lando caught it, obviously considering the proposition as more adoring fans pressed against the glass in various states of undress. Leia took a breath, about to compliment him, but he neatly cut her off. "If you'll excuse me..." He ducked behind a row of lockers, stripping off the plain white jumpsuit, entering as the mystery hero of the day and exiting as just another bland face in the crowd. "I have business to attend to."

"And what would that be, exactly?" Leia raised an eyebrow at him.

"You'll find that a certain Anakin Naberrie made a very large bet for the Rebellion's racer to win." He ran a hand through his hair before turning in the doorway to give her a thoroughly smug, cocky smile. "Also, lunch."

Fortunately, they were all in too good of a mood to object any more strongly. There was much more still to be done. There were reports to be gathered from the Rebel operatives milling through the crowd, being the whisper that directed the excited collective to serve Rebellion causes. Most importantly, there was the official prize to be collected, including the precious data-dagger they had gone to Taris to retrieve.

...In fact, it was several hours later when Leia found herself wandering throughout the massive city, following Vader's comm signal. She had been expecting the man to either find some greasy diner, the sort that you were vaguely ashamed to eat at and every waitress inevitably called you 'hon', or she expected him to be blowing his money at the most expensive place he could find. After all, she did hear the Toydarian in charge of the bets curse the name of Anakin Naberrie again and again with increasing fury. Instead, following the small chirping signal of his comm led her to somewhere totally unexpected. Oh, it was a nice part of town, the sort where middle-aged women met for lunch after taking their children to grav-ball practice. There were twee boutiques, but the type of twee boutiques that still advertised sales instead of assuming everyone had the money to buy anything they might be interested in. It was so bourgeoisie and aspirational that it made her wince a little.

Instead the signal led her to a small restaurant, one with clean white tables and a decor that was so tasteful it seemed obvious someone had spent countless hours worrying about it. The posted menu advertised dishes that were obviously the chef's pet ideas... but it also mentioned brunch.

It was doing a brisk enough business, and Leia spotted him immediately. One person sitting at a booth meant for four, with at least that much food. It seemed that Vader was happily making up for lost meals: Leia could see the remains of breakfast, lunch, and now he was apparently on dinner. The chef was surely frustrated by his requests for simple dishes instead of anything overwrought, but the bantha steak was perfectly done and the creamed greens to the side made her stomach grumble in hunger. At first glance it would have been tempting to say that he was a perfectly pleasant person, though Leia suspected that was mostly because of the mostly-empty bottle of red wine on his table.

"Always a pleasure, Princess. Should I pour you a glass?" He gave her a wide, arrogant smile, though it was _almost_ charming in such a context.

She countered with a smirk. "I'll pass."

"Your loss. This Glova Shiraz is one of the best vintages in the galaxy." He drew the glass to his lips once more, staring her down, though in a rather pleasant way.

Leia shook her head in mild amusement, reaching out to pass him a datapad. "Just a few pieces of the mission report you may be interested in. Mainly I'm here to tell you that we're leaving late tonight. Make sure you're sober enough to stumble onto the shuttle."

He grinned at her in a thoroughly cocksure manner. "You can rest assured that Thrawn will not catch me with a hangover." His pale blue eyes flicked over to the wide window at the front of the restaurant. "And them...?"

"The second matter I was coming to talk to you about." She also looked out to examine the two walking on the street - a rather familiar face, the Imperial racer, changed into civilian clothes, shoulder wrapped in thick bandages. A woman was clinging to his side, fussily circling him; the man himself looked rather shellshocked still. "Aran. He came to the Bek base asking for you by name, Vader. Apparently you scared him so badly that he wants to join the Rebellion immediately."

For a moment Vader stared out of the window, his expression softening in a way that was inscrutable to Leia. He could not see how he looked at the scared and injured young man and his clinging girlfriend and saw something of himself, or at least what could have been.

"Tell him he's part of our liaison here on Taris," Vader answered. "He's incompetent on an actual ship, but charming enough in person. His father's connections may be useful."

"If you say so," Leia said almost lazily. His relaxed good mood was infectious to the point where she examined the plates and shamelessly stole half a sandwich, despite his nonverbal grunt of objection around a sip of wine. "Remember, shuttle liftoff at eleven-hundred hours. Oh, and thanks for dinner..."

As she left, his demeanor grew more quiet. He watched as Leia went to the couple outside, gently instructing the man to stay on Taris; he saw how his girlfriend sobbed in relief and clutched at him. Perhaps Aran's life may be broken, but at least Vader had done what he could to keep it from breaking in the same way his had.

The waitress, all smiles after having been assured of her enormous tip, came over to him once more. "Should I bring you another bottle of the eighty-nine Shiraz, sir?"

"No..." His tone was a bit more distant now. "Just stimcaf. Sugar, no cream." Polishing off the last sip of wine, he leaned back and gave a sigh, allowing himself to relax. "...and the Juglanut blancmange. ...And a slice of the cake..."

"On second thought..." He allowed himself to smile once more. "Bring me one of everything on your dessert menu." After all, he thought, he was celebrating, wasn't he?

-

Two weeks later, Leia had almost forgotten about Taris, her mind full of upcoming preparations. Thrawn was finally taking their bait, and with it came new intelligence. Leia wished she could puzzle out what exactly Thrawn hoped to gain from an entire lot of cheap souveniers from Tatooine, not made by Tusken Raiders but by the slaves kept by Hutt crime lords. Vader's adamant excuse that Thrawn was merely trying to throw them off was starting to wear thin. Despite this, his smug confidence had only become more insufferable with time.

"...and that's the last of the intelligence reports. Admiral Ackbar would appreciate your battle strategy submitted to him by the end of the day." She sighed as he took the datapad from her, glancing it over.

"I've already submitted the strategy for the battle, Princess." He barely looked up at her, instead keeping busy at his desk. It was admittedly a spartan and functional place, but she expected nothing less from Vader. With the lack of space on the ship, he was only allocated one small suite of rooms. Leia had yet to decide if this meant he was sleeping in his office, or working in his bedroom.

Leia sighed. "It's not a valid battle strategy to say that it will be a surprise."

"Have a little confidence. Thrawn's ship won't be an issue."

Leia sighed and shook her head. "You'll have an eager audience for your surprise, then." Putting up with his arrogance hadn't become any less grating, to her chagrin. She was about to think of another proper chastisement before she noticed something out of the corner of her eye - a gleam of gold. "Is that...?"

"The Taris Grand Prix trophy, yes," he said casually.

"And... it's..."

"I put it to good use." He reached out to tilt it towards her, making the contents of the bowl at the top of the trophy more obvious. "Have a peppermint. And stop worrying."

It made a perverse sort of sense, such an expensive object turned into a candy bowl. The bright white mints were actually quite pretty, set in the gleaming square bowl of the trophy. And... at least she could follow half of the order that had just been barked at her.

Vader was still, at best, a complete frustrating annoyance... but Leia had to admit, as she happily gnawed on one of the peppermints while walking to her next meeting, he had excellent taste in candy.


	38. Kobayashi Maru

Leia was unafraid to admit that the bridge of Mon Calamari ships made her slightly nervous. She was grateful for the fact the Alliance had such ships, and admired the bravery of the crew. But she was used to battles meaning information speeding across screens where she could catch a glimpse here or there of how the battle was going. With all the data flashing in wavelengths only Mon Calamari could see, it was rather unnerving.

There had been some makeshift seats found and placed out of the way, looking down on the command bridge. Leia shifted in her seat and gave an aggravated sigh. "He's late."

"Figures," Han drawled, stretching back in his own seat and glaring out the wide observational window at the ongoing battle.

So far it was going surprisingly well. Ahsoka, leading her own X-wing squadron, was enough of a new variable for even Thrawn to be thrown off-balance. The meticulous Chiss would not be outwitted for long, but until then, they were picking off the other X-wing fighters and generally causing chaos. One of the three Imperial Star Destroyers was already having to deal with a hull breech on the left side of the command tower and was nearly out of the fight, but with the Alliance spread so thin, they were still outnumbered even though Thrawn had only brought two ships. The Chimaera's lack of further escort showed Thrawn's confidence in an easy victory. The _Endeavor_ was a fine ship, but no match for them, even with _Home One_, various others, and Admiral Ackbar's prowess.

The doors to the bridge opened and Vader swept in, his cape fluttering behind him. Fashionably late, even to a battle. Leia supposed that she couldn't expect a man who had worn a floor-length cape and armor designed to intimidate to give up great sense of drama so quickly.

"Commander Vader." Ackbar did not try to hide an undertone of annoyance. "I suppose now you are finally ready to reveal your master plan for this battle?"

"Yes. I very much am." He was more than slightly smug, striding out onto the command deck like he owned it, stance aggressively wide and hands behind his back with his shoulders square: an impressive and intimidating figure. Truthfully, it was the first time anyone had seen him in days. After the win at Taris, he retired to his quarters, first answering runners and inquiries but then turning away everyone, citing preparations for battle. Even if he seemingly hadn't come out even for meals, he seemed flush with a confident excitement.

"Helmsman!"

One of the Mon Calamari jumped, but answered immediately. "Yessir, Commander?"

"Keep us in visual contact with the _Chimaera_ at all times."

The crew waited expectantly. One cleared his throat - a wet, chuffing noise - before someone piped up. "Any other orders, sir?"

A slightly reckless grin crossed his face. Leia was starting to miss the adequately humbled, pre-Taris Commander Vader. "No other orders."

"...None, sir?"

"None, unless you count 'sit down and watch' as an order." A smug look crossed his face again, and the ship lazily turned to fully frame the battle below. Stisste, the main star of the Saleucami system, burned with predictable ferocity. It framed the entire battle, throwing harsh highlights on the shining metal of the hulls of the ships that flitted around like gnats caught in a light. The entire visual display of the field had obviously been adjusted to palatable brightness.

Leia gave a small disbelieving scoff. It would certainly help to have a stunning victory for the Rebellion pulled out of thin air, but she saw Han roll his eyes, and she gave a small nod of agreement. Vader stood a little more straight, viewing the battle, before taking a deep breath and stretching out one hand towards the vast blackness of space and the ensuing battle.

Underneath his breath, Han made some grumbling comment about how he didn't understand how just pointing was going to do anything. Leia was almost ready to laugh at this before she sucked in a deep breath. Suddenly it seemed as if the air was thick with an electric buzz. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and almost without realizing it, she reached out for Han with a squeak. As her knuckles went white around his arm, he started to protest, but was cut off by one of the Mon Calamari officers. "Sir!"

Admiral Ackbar frowned slightly. "Officer Lekmi. Report?"

"The Chimaera's trajectory is changing -" One webbed hand hovered at her earpiece as the other frantically tapped at the screen, scrolling through data that was pouring in. "Falling out of formation."

"Countering our modified Kenobi offensive?"

"No, Admiral. This new trajectory isn't making any sense..." Her fishy lips pursed in confusion. "Thrusters are firing but in completely the wrong direction. If this is some sort of feint..."

Leia glanced momentarily to Vader's face. He was oddly serene, though a small smile was crossing his face.

"Rotation's continuing counterintuitive to thrusters, Admiral - twenty degrees - twenty-five -"

_In the sterile setting of an Imperial engine room, there were screams, from people as well as machinery. A hose snapped and filled the room with a cloud of gas. Through the miasma, an engineer dove for an intercom. There was no excuse good enough. They couldn't think of any. It was inexplicable. And Thrawn was not pleased with the answer._

"Thirty-five -" Officer Lekmi reared back from her station. "Sir - Admiral - I don't think - "

"Go ahead, Officer Lekmi," the Admiral gently prompted. Leia's eyes darted back and forth between the two, drinking in the subtle drama of commander and commanded, mentally comparing Akbar's firm but polite manner with Vader's usual tyranny.

"This can't be right, sir. It just - it can't, there's -"

Another crew member piped up from across the bridge. "_Home One_ and _Mon Karren_ are reporting similar readings, requesting confirmation, sir."

"Admiral -" Lekmi turned to look back at them, her liquid eyes wide. "The _Chimaera_ has changed to a collision course with the primary star of this system."

Stisste burned brightly behind the entire battle as the main screen tracked the movement of ships while keeping an overall visualization of their courses. Now Leia could clearly see the largest of the three star destroyers turned to point directly at the firey star, ready to pierce it like an arrow's tip, despite the lack of an archer or bow.

"The _Chimaera_ is two-point-three megalight from impact, sir - two-point-zero - "

_The view from the command spire was nothing but fire, now. Thrawn was gripping his chair's armrests tightly. Thrusters had failed. The strike team of x-wings had disabled part of the hyperspace drive as to make compensating for the sun's gravity well impossible. All other options had been exhausted. For a long moment, Thrawn stopped giving orders: they had been coming, rapid-fire, firm but calm, as he tried every tactic, every trick, every possibility of escape from this snare. But now he was silent. And in the silence, the second-chair navigation officer began to cry._

"One-point-seven - point-six - point-four - the _Chimaera_'s speeding up, sir - they've sent out an all-bands general distress signal -"

_The heat shielding was starting to fail, and there was sweat on Thrawn's pristine white collar. He sat with muscles taut, lips pursed as if about to give an order, blue hands clutching the seat so hard his knuckles had gone near-white - a pleasant sky-blue, if the color was taken out of context. The second-chair navigation officer continued crying. Nobody told her to be quiet. The bridge executive officer asked for orders._

"Point-two - zero-point-nine - past the point of no return, sir - the _Chimaera_'s continuing on -!"

_He asked again. What are your orders, Admiral Thrawn. What are your orders. A useless but comforting litany, because all they can see now is the glowing corona of Stisste before them. The heat was smothering, oppressive. Slowly, Thrawn seemed to relax, leaning back into his chair. His hands unclenched, and he folded them in his lap, fingers intertwined. Again: what are your orders, Admiral Thrawn. He had none. Instead something about the ferocity of the cheap fakes from Tatooine finally made sense. It slipped into place. There was no bitterness to this intellectual victory: Thrawn smiled at his discovery, and relaxed. There was no sorrow or anger at losing to an opponent when your defeat was so artistically done. And so he closed his eyes and waited._

"Point-three - point-one - c... coronal impact, sir."

Leia had been expecting for the ship to pierce the star and for plasma to leak out of it almost like the yolk of an egg being broken at breakfast. Instead it was much more beautiful. Jets of golden yellow rose to meet the craft right as the systems compensating for the crushing gravity failed. It was crumpled and consumed almost in the same instant, a metallic bud that formed the base for a roselike flare. The battle seemed to come to a stop as everyone stared with some mixture of horror and awe.

The silence that followed was broken only by a communications officer. "Admiral, General Pallaeon is hailing all Republic frequencies asking for a ceasefire and parlay to discuss terms of surrender." The darts of red and green fire became suddenly lopsided, and as Ackbar gave an assenting nod, they stopped altogether, ships warily circling one another as they pulled out of individual dogfights.

For the first time in several minutes Leia felt as if she could finally breathe. Her hand was starting to cramp, still clutching Han's arm tightly, but she had forgotten it was there - and apparently he had as well, judging from how he blinked when she pulled away. Vader was still standing, looking out across the bridge at the viewscreen. Leia had to work up the courage to ask him what the hell had just happened: the electric buzz in the air had, amazingly, stunned her into silence.

She was about to ask him when she saw him sway, and then fall forward to his knees. He fell like an ancient oak finally being toppled in a forest, his weight coming down all at once, back still rigid as he fell forward onto the floor. Only then did Leia - and the rest of them - notice the blood that was pouring from his nose and had made a bright crimson line into his beard and across his lips.

And in response, Leia let loose an epithet which was so vile even Han looked slightly shocked.


	39. Masquerade: Shadow Puppets

He knew that something was very, very wrong as soon as thoughts bubbled up out of the darkness. The command deck, even of a Mon Calamari ship, should be much harder. It should not be soft and downy, and it most decidedly did not have smooth cotton sheets.

For a long moment he held his breath as if everything around him would fall away if he dared to sigh out, like a dandelion seed-ball held to his lips. But the sunlight was burning crimson through his eyes, and there were distant sounds that were most decidedly not part of a battleship - and smells, something tart and flowery... It took him a moment to place it, and when he did, he sucked in a breath. Padme's favourite morning tsane.

When his eyes finally focused to make sense out of the whiteness, everything looked familiar, but in a way that disquieted him. Even the window made him gulp back a dizzy knot in his throat, because he did not know what was going on, and that made him inherently uncomfortable. But there was something else here - the same thing that made him scared to breathe. It all seemed so fragile and delicate, and most importantly, false.

He flexed his hand against the blanket, trying to get his bearings, but after a moment more of staring at himself he sat bolt upright. He didn't question his lack of uniform, or why the bed was large enough for two - he was too busy trying to find the line of the seam on his arms that marked the split between the biological and the mechanic. He could not find any of them, save for one on his wrist. It was a dreamy sort of memory that told him he had gotten the old golden prosthetic replaced with a new - no, not even a memory, just sure in the knowledge even if he was not sure how it happened.

His head still throbbed as he held his wrist, still careful with each breath, but now appreciating how every muscle he felt was his own. It was too unreal, he knew, but his own giddiness broke over him like waves on a shore. Perhaps he could see what was going to happen, since he was here. He would stay reserved, and stay apart, if it was a trick -

Then her voice came from the other room.

"Ani? Are you up yet?"

It wasn't roughened with age the way his was, but instead smoothed like a river pebble, but this minute change in her voice made it more believable. He had hardly processed actually hearing her when Padme appeared at the door - grey-haired, crow's feet around her eyes, a little pudgier around the waist where age had taken its toll, but still smiling with goddesslike benevolence. When she saw him, she gave a smile. "Goodness, you must have been having quite a nightmare. I'm glad I let you sleep in, you still look half dead on your feet." She was every bit as graceful as he remembered, and he was thankful she took his gaping as sleepiness. Teasingly, she tossed him a set of clothes from the closet onto the bed. "I got Corde to bring over some of the kjuni-berry cakes for breakfast that are your favourite. Go ahead and get up, it's a big day."

He expected to stumble and trip over words as she leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, but instead they tumbled out from his lips so easily it shocked him. "I know, I'll be up in a moment. Thank you for the kjuni-berry cakes." It was so simple and easy, as if he had said that to her every day for many years - too simple and easy, thrillingly and breathtakingly slow. He was too dazed to pull the kiss further, to hold her and beg at her feet with apologies as he always wished, but he found himself mirroring her smile as she wandered back into the other room.

It was still all wrong, down to the loose Jedi-style tunic and pants she had tossed at him to wear. It was all wrong, but as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, it seemed very much like a wrong he could get used to. Even where he noticed middle-age spread taking its toll on his own waist was something he was happy to see - it spoke to decades of living just like this, fat and happy enough to eat kjuni-berry cakes for breakfast.

But it was still all wrong, as he realized he didn't know what a kjuni-berry tasted like, much less if it was his favourite.

She greeted him with another kiss and passed a cup of tsane into his hands as he entered the kitchen, and he was still disoriented enough to let himself be guided into a chair as he set two plates out in front of them and took her own seat. "I'm glad you're finally up. You were thrashing around something awful last night." He had forgotten how sweetly pouting her frown was, how adorable she was even when worrying.

"I'm fine. Just a nightmare." He smiled beamingly, the words spilling out freely then his throat seeming to constrict. He wanted so badly to yell at her all of the speeches, all of the pleas he had thought of and locked away in his heart, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate. And as the words stuck in his throat, he swallowed them back down with a bite of breakfast. It was, indeed, delicious - his favourite he hadn't been aware of before.

"You're probably just nervous about today." She was even smiling as she sipped the tsane, reaching out to squeeze his arm affectionately. "Our baby daughter, going to be named Naboo's new senator. I can hardly believe it." This only gave him a moment's pause. It was wrong, contrary, but in a perverse way was starting to all make sense. A daughter: of course, they had another child, that must be it. A little sister for Luke. As he ate, Padme took it as her cue to continue talking. "We're going to have dinner with the Organas tomorrow, I don't know if I told you - to thank them for being so nice to her. It's been so long since I've been in politics, really, but Bail has been so wonderful, letting her come study with him." She squeezed his arm again. "You'll probably enjoy not having to make a little speech this Remembrance Day, anyway."

And then his mind was filling in things again, not memories - just facts, as if he had read them out of a textbook of his own life. Remembrance Day. Commemorating the end of the Clone Wars, the foiled attempt at taking over the Republic by Palpatine, the many clone soldiers who were lost...

It was fiction, but as Padme talked, the fact that it was fiction seemed to become less and less important.

"Luke and Obi-Wan should be here any moment, that's why I woke you. I think it's supposed to be a surprise for you, so you have to promise to look shocked, but Obi-Wan told me Luke's made his first lightsaber, besides being top of his class at the pilot's academy."

Almost unbidden, he found a laugh and a smile on his lips, and he almost didn't recognize the sound of his own voice: "About time!"

"Oh, hush, I know you're glad to hear it. Just promise me you'll pretend to be surprised and very proud of him."

"I won't need to pretend to be proud."

He was still shocked at how easily the words came, and what he had even said, when she leaned up and over the table to give him a short, peckish kiss. "Now that you're up I'm going to do something with my hair -" it was classically Padme, simple braids were never enough, he thought with some amusement - "There's more tsane in the pot. You seem so tired, promise me you'll get another cup, and I'll be back when Luke's here."

And for a moment he was alone in the kitchen. It was a small space of time where he had the chance to put down his fork and try to make sense of it all. It made no sense at all, in fact. Everything seemed so very wrong, but as he stared at his half-eaten breakfast and empty cup, it suddenly seemed more and more plausible.

Even if he knew it was fictitious, he still stood slowly to dust off his tunic, going to the counter to get another cup of tsane. Things were quiet, but the house, small as it was, still seemed alive in a way that no battleship ever had. The window opened out to a scenic view of Naboo's lake country, something that was as boringly predictable as it was shockingly novel.

He didn't have time to reconcile the conflict as he spotted two figures walking up the path. At first he wasn't quite sure why it was so shocking to see them, but it was so startling that he didn't realize he was still pouring the tsane until it audibly splashed to the floor from the countertop after overflowing the cup. Obi-Wan was wearing the same brown robe as ever; he had already seen the other man old and weatherbeaten, but there was something distinctly shocking about the wrinkles this time, as if he had spent twenty years smiling that same aggravatingly serene smirk he always did instead of frowning in worry. And then there was Luke - a little taller, perhaps, but remarkably and startlingly healthy-looking. It was a father's observation, but it was in such amazing contrast to the holovids of Luke in the Empire's control that he could not help but be so shocked by it.

Fumbling, he barely had time to find a towel to clean up the spill before the doorbell chimed, and with enough warning, Luke was the first to open the door. It was dizzy and unreal to him how naturally he hugged his son, openly displaying affection - and feeling it in his chest, the steadfast warmth of a devoted father's love. Words were spoken, but he could not remember them, even as he greeted Obi-Wan with a handshake that then turned into a hug. And Padme was there, greeting them both with equal happiness, squeezing her son's shoulders and saying how very proud she was, and Luke replying with a laugh and a hug how good it was to be home...

He had stumbled back almost in awe of it to pick up the cup of tsane, enough to be noticed. Padme shot him a worried frown. "Are you all right, dear? That nightmare must have really gotten to you."

This time the words didn't come as easily, and as he cleared his voice, it seemed almost like his own. "It... it did, just a little." What a delicious lie it was to consider all those years simply a bad dream. A small thread of hope snaked its way into his heart: what if it simply was a dream, a vivid and intense one? He knew it was impossible, but it was simultaneously implausible - a way to hang on to this oxymoronic existence. His voice was hoarse this time as he continued. "Obi-Wan, can I speak to you for a moment?" Just a little gesture let the other man know he meant in private.

His feet knew the way into the sunroom but his head didn't, even as he clutched at his cup. With a little nod, he gestured for them to sit down. It took a few deep breaths for him to find the strength to speak as himself, his voice sounding rougher, words coming slowly.

"If I don't wake up, what happens to them?"

He had been expecting a denial - for Obi-Wan to shake his head and proclaim him still addled by some nightmare, or to even just start laughing. Instead the older Jedi settled back in his chair, and that same serenely enigmatic smile crested over his face, hidden by a white beard instead of the brown he was more used to.

"You don't wake up," he answered with a small shrug. The frustration bubbled up and made the entire room seem to waver, as if for an instant he was ready to see through the mirage, but Obi-Wan understood and continued. "They lose. They will succeed eventually - good always triumphs over evil - but in centuries, not decades."

The sunlight still burned through his eyes as he closed them, clutching the cup of tsane as the knot in his stomach reasserted itself. It was all wrong and false. He had been expecting that answer, hadn't he? He had been waiting for it, but it was not any more welcome. "And... them." He gestured back to the kitchen, changing the pronoun's meaning enough for Obi-Wan to understand.

He was thankful that his former mentor's voice was kind. "They are always with you, Anakin. They've never left."

When he opened his eyes, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The sunlight fractured and broke in starry glimmers, and he was surprised at how he was actually starting to cry. "I should say something to them," he declared, mostly at himself, as he stood and left the cup of tsane on the table as if casting off his anchor to the house.

The cold knot in his stomach became a noose around his throat as he looked to the kitchen to see Luke and Padme talking. She was squeezing his arm in maternal happiness, examining the new lightsaber he had put on the table as well as the small datapad of grade reports from the Academy. They were both smiling so very brightly that whatever words he tried to find failed him.

There simply wasn't anything good enough to tell her how much he loved her, and would love her eternally. The speeches to beg her forgiveness seemed cheap and tacky. And he simply could not fathom how to begin to express the ache in his chest to Luke - how bleedingly, heartbreakingly proud he was, how he wanted to become used to loving him as a son so freely.

There wasn't anything good enough at all.

So he closed his eyes and gulped back his half-formed tears. And in the last few moments, the bitter, grating voice in the back of his head spoke up. _Remember all of this,_ it bit acidically at him. _Remember what you could have had, every single little detail. But you went and ruined it all, you sorry bastard..._

And then he woke up.


	40. Walk It Off

"Sir! Sir - please - "

He was already up by the time he realized what had happened. The medics were cowering, including the droid, pressed up against the opposite wall. The oxygen mask had been tossed onto the floor from where he had clawed it off, and he was still gasping as he let himself lean back against the wall, clawing at the doorframe.

"Sir -" One of the medics stared at him, wide-eyed. "Please, Commander, you need to _rest_ - you had an aneurysm - or - or something - it nearly was a stroke, sir -"

"I'm fine!" He gasped, reaching up to wipe at his nose. At least there was no longer any blood actively flowing now. "I - am - _fine_." Gulping, he closed his eyes to try and get the room to stop spinning. "For the record... never put a mask over my face. _Never_. Or the next time I wake up, I may end up gutting one of you."

The two human medics visibly paled, but the droid persisted. "Commander Vader. Unidentified stress-related injuries are most easily treated with rest for proper recuperation. To avoid further implications -"

"I. Am. _FINE._"

Even the droid was silenced by this outburst.

It took him a few long moments to steady himself as he gasped like a man who had just come up for air from a long dive. His hand went to his neck, and he fiddled with the buttons at the top of his collar. He wasn't sure if he should button them for modesty, or unbutton a few more so that he could get more air. He still hadn't decided by the time he turned and stumbled out the door and down the long hallway.

Fifteen minutes later, Leia stood in the same doorway, making the medics cower. "You did _what?_"

"He just walked out of the door, Princess, I'm sorry -" One of the medics winced. "Um... security said he was heading to rec room three."

Leia sighed, reaching up to pinch her nose as if warding off a headache before gently patting her hair to make sure it was still in its complicated braid. "All right." Her tone was snappish, as if she was suddenly considering that she was the one who had to fix everything, but fortunately it softened. "And his medical state?"

"Stable. ...ish," one of them admitted hesitantly. Leia's eyebrow raised. "Well, no... no serious or obvious lasting injury. Neurological patterns were disrupted and recovered, and he should have been resting for continued observation... but he'll likely be all right. If he rests."

"And so he went off to rec room three." Leia sighed. "Wonderful."

"Well, um - it's just down the hall -"

"I _know_ where it is, _thank you_."

Her hands clenched into fists as she stomped down the hallway. The recreation rooms were thankfully fairly large on the Mon Calamari cruiser. Perhaps more importantly, the magnetic-fiber-laced transparisteel had been set to be transparent instead of opaque, and she could see the red glow of his lightsaber before she actually saw him through the windows.

Leia did not know terms like Djem So or Form V, but if someone had mentioned it to her, she would have agreed that the title Way of the Krayt Dragon did indeed make sense. Only one lightsaber was in his hands, the blue light bouncing off of his face as he drew into another fighting stance. Later she would try to puzzle out why it was Luke's lightsaber he chose to use instead of his own, but at that moment, she was too entranced by what was before her. Every move was slow and deliberate. It was obviously some sort of kata, a learned series of movements that all flowed into one another. Perhaps there was meant to be a partner to block each stroke, but there was nothing but air to greet his blade: he still stopped as if it was properly blocked before shifting to counter-attack. Each movement was done so slowly it was more like an elaborate dance than anything useful in battle. Stunningly beautiful - in its own way.

She watched as he drew back and bowed at the waist, completing one set before beginning another. His hair, usually pulled back, had fallen into his face; it didn't matter much as his eyes were firmly closed. Most unnerving and mesmerizing was the way the air tasted. No, Leia corrected herself, that wasn't quite right. It was as if someone had just told her about the existence of another primary color and now she saw it everywhere. She didn't know if she should be frustrated at its ubiquity, or angry at herself for not noticing sooner. It was the Force. She was sure of it. And with each slow movement he was bringing the Force with him, wielding it as surely as he did the blade.

And she was terrified that if she closed her eyes, she would see it. Maybe his limbs were pushing through the Force like the prow of a boat, leaving churning wakes behind them. Maybe she would just see the long trail of the lightsaber like a blue banner caught in some breeze, suspended mid-air. And he would turn, and look, and see that she was watching. It would be a thread for him to tug and unravel everything.

So Leia wisely decided it was best to leave Vader alone to walk it off.

((_Author's Notes:_

_My apologies for this short chapter! I'm sorry for its lack of length, but I felt things weren't wrapped up adequately from last time. Expect a Christmas-themed Interlude update very soon._

_As always, thank you so much for reading!))_


	41. Interlude II Holidays

"Sure, it may not look like much..." Mara Jade leaned back in her chair. "But I'm not finished yet." As she leaned back, she kicked up her feet, and put them squarely on top of Luke's head. He did not seem too concerned about being used for a footrest. Even if it meant her shoes on his head, it was at least some company.

Her knitting needles clacked as she continued to work. "I chose the itchiest wool. That's the whole beauty of this plan. And these banthas? The incredibly twee and ugly ones?" She pointed at what she had already done. "They're going to be wearing stupid holiday hats."

For a moment the captor and captive looked at each other. They were coming to the mutual conclusion that perhaps Mara Jade was not as good at the whole being evil thing as she would have liked to be.

"And anyway, speaking of hats..." She set her knitting aside, grinning widely and pulling out an utterly ridiculous piece of headgear. It had glowy bits. And also jingle bells. She immediately plopped it on Luke's head, after moving her feet to his shoulder. "There. Now you're not just a lump of farmboy, you're a _festive_ lump of farmboy."

Luke blinked solemnly, and didn't outright object.

It was, after all, a pretty snazzy hat.

-

"Okay. Ready... steady... and... _pull!_"

The three Rebel soldiers all snatched out cards from the hand of the one in the middle. "Plus one!" The first said, gasping in relief. "Three, here!" The next said, looking similarly relieved. "Come on, Pazka... what did you get?"

The last one mumbled.

"...what?"

"I said I drew _minus three_."

The other two looked at him and winced in sympathy, but as he opened his mouth to argue, the first held up his hands. "We promised, Pazka! We'd draw cards, whoever got the lowest has to do it."

"But - but Liam - come on! He'll _kill_ me!"

"No he won't," the other soothed, putting an arm around Pazka's shoulders. "He'll just, like, blow you off, most likely. You'll just get yelled at and we can mark him off on our list. One-hundred-percent participation, we get double pay, remember? And you can buy... oh, what's her name... the cathar down in Engineering you're sweet on - you can spend that on a gift for her for Life Day!"

"Yeah, 'cos we all know Pazka totally has jungle fever... _mmmrowr!_"

"TES! Come on, you don't need to do _that_."

Pazka, however, was sweating bullets. "No, you guys, he's going to kill me. He'll strangle me. Promise. He's - he's a Sith! My grandma did so many excavations on Korriban, and she told me _all about them_..."

"We know, we know," Tes groaned, rolling his eyes. "Look, just go do it."

"But -"

"You drew the lowest card, Pazka! We're only being fair -"

By now the other two were pushing him over to one door along the long corridor of residential rooms. There were names pasted on each door, but they blended in nicely with the scuffed yet shining white, just like the rest of the shabby charm the Rebellion ship had. Pazka continued spluttering in protests as his friends dragged him along, the heels of his boots leaving double skid marks on the floor.

"But but but -!"

"Too late!" The louder one of them roared, slamming his palm against the doorbell and running away, leaving Pazka behind while the other two of them hid off to the side.

Pazka froze in terror as there were shuffling sounds from behind the other door. It only took a moment for the doors to sweep open. His hair was a little ruffled, obviously flattened from sleeping on one side, and there were darker circles around his eyes suggesting that sleeping had been a concession to his body at the very last minute instead of anything enjoyable... but it was most definitely Commander Vader.

"_**WHAT.**_"

From the way Pazka was trembling, it may have been a good thing he had worn brown-colored pants that day. The man barely managed to squeeze out a few words. "Um, um... we're... we're collecting donations for, uh... th-the Widows and Orphans Fund... for, um, Life Day c-celebrations and, uh..."

"Give me that," Vader snarled, snatching the datapad from Pazka's hands. The soldier whimpered as Vader reviewed the datapad and scribbled something before jamming it back into Pazka's grip. "THERE. Now leave me alone." And with that, he slammed the door closed.

Pazka stood there whimpering for several more seconds.

Cautiously, Tes and Liam came to stand by their friend. "Well, come on," Tes cajoled. "What'd he donate?"

"I don't know! I don't know and I'm not looking! Not looking at all! My grandmother told me that Sith can just write something and your eyeballs will fry _right in your head_ -" Liam gingerly reached around to take the datapad from Pazka's trembling grip. "And they'll fall out and you'll fall over dead, just because they wrote something -"

"_Woah._"

Liam held the datapad out, and Tes scrambled to similarly gawk. "I'm not looking, I'm not looking," Pazka feebly protested before Tes reached up to peel away his hands from his eyes. "Oh... _wow_." For a moment, all three of them were silent, staring at the number of credits that Vader had just signed over to the charity.

"You guys? I think we're going to win that Life Day party for the group who raised the most."

((Happy New Year, everyone! We'll resume your regularly scheduled updates soon, and I hope you enjoyed this small festive interlude. As always, thank you for reading!))


	42. Evasive Maneuvers

"I still have a bad feeling about this," Vader muttered underneath his breath.

"Bwee-_bwoo_!"

His eyes narrowed as he glared at Artoo. "I volunteered as pilot for this mission _because_ of my apprehension. The inverse is not true."

"Bwoop," Artoo declared airily.

Leia had to stifle a laugh behind her hand as she stood half-in, half-out of the cockpit. She wasn't sure why the little astromech droid hated Vader so much, but the feeling seemed to be somewhat mutual. More than once, Threepio had remarked at his shock finding out Artoo knew such language. But once Vader declared he was volunteering to pilot what should have been a routine diplomatic mission to Circarpous IV, it seemed the ship had suddenly become quite full. Leia herself had been hesitating about whether or not to come, but Vader needed supervision. And Ahsoka had promptly invited herself along as well. And when the need for an astromech droid became apparent, Artoo would not take no for an answer.

Suddenly what had become a quick diplomatic jaunt had become quite complicated. Truthfully, Leia also had a nagging sense of dread. But she refused to acknowledge it when Vader was being so depressingly glum. Instead she had spent most of the hyperspace jump chatting with Mon Mothma and the representative from Circarpous IV, Krisee Strand. He was a charming enough young man, but Ahsoka seemed intent on keeping an eye on him, and something told Leia that Ahsoka was right to do so.

Strand leaned out of his seat and waved at her brightly. "Princess Organa! Join us for another game of Pazaak? By the time we're done, we should be docked." Ahsoka critically examined his smile as she shuffled the deck. Mon Mothma had apparently excused herself after the latest round, and was settled into the plush accommodation of the converted cargo ship.

"No, thank you, Representative Strand."

"All right. I suppose it's just a showdown between me and you, Miss Tano." He teased gently, turning back.

Ahsoka's smile was brilliant in return as she started dealing out the cards. "Just count yourself lucky we're only playing for bottlecaps," she said with a wink as they settled into another game.

Leia let herself pick up the smile, leaning against the doorframe. The small cargo ship was smaller than the Falcon, to the point where they were rather cramped. She was glad that the hyperspace jump was relatively short, so that they didn't have to figure out sleeping arrangements. All things considered, this was set up to be an almost leisurely trip. Leia would just have a pleasant stay on Circarpous IV. Perhaps she would be called on to flutter her eyes at Strand a few times to cut the Alliance was a better deal (though, even now, she couldn't help but be preoccupied with how much more comfortable she would be if this was the Falcon and it was Han at the pilot's chair for her to speak to). Probably the closest thing she would get to a vacation, given how the Rebel Alliance operated. The people of Circarpous IV were supposedly quite sympathetic to the cause, so maybe she could - just for a few hours - relax with her feet up and a drink in her hand...

The entire ship shuddered with a long _WHUWHUWHUMP_.

Leia was nearly tossed off her feet, and she clawed for the doorframe. The pazaak cards slid off the desk, Representative Strand gave a shrill yelp, and Mon Mothma actually uttered a small oath as her datapad flew out of her hands and her work was disturbed. The blurry lines of hyperspace faded out in the cockpit window to be replaced with static stars and the lazy drifting of Imperial ships circling a planet with menacing purpose. No, not Circarpous IV - their journey wasn't due to end so soon. Leia's hard sank a little when she recognized it. _Mimban_.

"What's going on? What's happened?" Leia demanded, hanging on to the doorframe to peer into the cockpit. Vader's shoulders had tensed - he was obviously as unhappy as she was.

"This... is a trap."

"_What?_" Leia's voice went somewhat shrill and she looked back to glare at Strand, who was already sweating bullets.

"For the love of any God you please, I didn't have anything to do with this -"

"Imperial hyperspace block, drawing off of Mimban's magnetic pull..." Leia's heart sunk. This scenario was starting to sound rather familiar. At least she wasn't stuck in a Y-wing, though she dearly wished that Luke in his X-wing was along as her escort once again. "This is too much effort for simply catching smugglers." Vader's voice had dropped to a growl. "Tano -"

"Manning the turret station," the togruta said quickly, dashing to the back of the ship. It had nothing as elegant or powerful as on the Millennium Falcon, but one turret was better than none. Already, TIE fighters were pouring out of the two small Imperial cruisers. Ahsoka turned to the rest of them with curt professionalism as she passed through. "I suggest getting in your safety harnesses. _Now_."

Mon Mothma was already looking a little pale even as she scrambled for one of the seats, jerking the safety harness down out of its compartment. Representative Strand looked near tears, continuing to stutter out apology after apology. Leia didn't have time to stop and hear him out. She grabbed for her own harness before pausing, then thinking better of it. There was no way she was going to sit this fight _entirely_ out.

The TIE fighters swarmed around the old cargo ship immediately, and the ship turned into a tight roll, nearly knocking Leia off her feet again. Artoo indignantly squealed as Vader kept up a steady, though somewhat lopsided conversation with him. "Yes, I _realize_ that the only way to Mimban is through the Imperial line. ..._That's the idea._" Leia's knuckles went white as she clutched the doorframe. Vader was sincerely worried, nearly panicking, even. It was unfathomable to consider him ever losing his cool, but he was even more on edge than when he and Leia had barely escaped Coruscant. By now the fighters were all coming behind the cargo ship in a long line, getting it in their crosshairs. Fancy flying only would get them so far. The first few shots rocked the ship, more of them streaking across the cockpit window as Vader made sure they narrowly dodged each bolt.

"Leia -" Mon Mothma spoke up, and Leia looked behind her, shaking her head momentarily. This was too important to be stuck in he sidelines, even as the ship turned sharply so that one of the Imperial ships sat in-between them and Mimban.

"I thought we were supposed to be running _away_ from the Imperials, not _towards_ them -" she snapped anxiously.

Artoo let out a searing series of hoots.

"_Just reverse the polarity on the thrusters on my mark_, Artoo," Vader snapped.

The droid rhetorted with another flurry of Binary that made Leia's eyes water. "Threepio wasn't kidding. Where _did_ you pick up that kind of language?" She looked back up at the cockpit window and winced. "When flying, generally you want to _avoid_ the other ships-!"

"Artoo, on my mark. Princess, _SIT DOWN_."

"You need to pull up. _Pull up, Commander_ -"

"Three - two -"

"_PULL UP!_"

"One - MARK!"

Leia nearly tumbled head over heels as the ship slammed to a halt. They were mere clicks away from ramming into the command spire of the Imperial ship. While - by some miracle - their ship was able to stop in time, several TIE fighters had obviously been mindlessly following. It only took one fighter pilot unable to jerk away in time - there was a firey explosion that filled the entire cockpit window. For a moment there was only blinding light, the view of Mimban completely obscured.

Artoo continued piping up in a long worried series of whistles. They swooped directly through the fireball, heading towards the planet with double speed. It was a reprieve - but a very brief one. The entire ship rocked with a direct hit, and there came a yell from the back of the ship, sparks flying. Ahsoka scrambled out of the turret bay, wearing a fresh scorch-mark across her face. "COMMANDER! Turret's down!" The togruta was panting from the effort, and she grabbed Leia firmly by the shoulder. "Princess Organa - please - get into your safety harness."

"I'm fine here," she argued weakly, but allowed herself to be pulled back.

Mon Mothma's face had gone stony in seriousness, and Representative Strand was weakly stuttering about how he didn't want to die. The ship rocked with another hit, and Leia scrambled to get to her seat in earnest, the safety harness nearly jerked out of her hand and leaving a friction burn on her palm. Ahsoka continued struggling forward until she took up Leia's post, hanging onto the doorframe. The cockpit window was starting to glow with the white-fire of re-entry as they started to skim into Mimban's surface. "_Sir_. How is re-entry looking?" she called out.

"_BAD._" Vader snapped, talking through clenched teeth.

Leia was still wrestling on the harness, and her eyebrows knit in worry. "What? How bad is bad?" She was barely able to catch Ahsoka's attention as the Togruta scrambled for her own safety harness. "Tano? _How bad is it?_"

"Are you a religious woman, Organa?"

"I don't see what that has to do with this, but I suppose - yes - you could say so -"

"Then _START PRAYING_," the Togruta shouted over the noise of a cascade of warning alarms and the hiss and snap of sparks flying from the disabled turret in the back.

The rest of the flight was lost in a hazy memory of clinging to the safety harness and having the back of her head hit the plastisteel wall. At some point Vader uttered a curse that was truly spectacular, and in Huttese. She could barely hear it over the warning claxons and the roar of reentry. And eventually, there was blackness, and all was still.


	43. Right to Bear Arms

"Tweoo-fwooo? ...Tweoooo-fwooo-oo?"

Leia heard Artoo long before the world stopped being in double vision. It pitched and swayed, but eventually came into focus. As she undid the clasps on the safety harness, her legs hadn't seemed to had decided to cooperate yet - she fell out of the chair, bracing her hands on the ground before slowly drawing herself up to stand. A warning klaxon was still chirping weakly. The ship was in pieces. The soft mist of fire suppressant had surely been falling on her face for several minutes, but it took her a long moment to notice; she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and winced as they stung.

"Tweoo-hwooo!" Artoo rocked from side to side in front of her worriedly.

"I'm all right, I'm all right," she murmured, swaying a little. The ship had been cleverly designed to, as some elaborate safety feature, break apart in case of such a catastrophic landing. Obviously running into the earth and trees had only made the matter worse. But as she limped out of the twisted wreckage, she was glad that she had gotten away with only a sprained ankle. Mon Mothma had apparently already dragged Representative Strand out: the man was knocked out cold, and Mon Mothma was sporting a new gash on her cheek.

She flinched a little as a hand went to her shoulder. "It's good to see you out, Princess Organa." Ahsoka gave her a lopsided smile. "I was about to see if I needed to help you out, but Artoo's beaten me to it."

"Any injuries?" Leia pinched at her nose. "I'm sure we all have concussions, but..."

"A few cuts and bruises. A bruised montral hurts, but I've been through worse," Ahsoka said cheerfully. "Strand's likely been through a bit worse. He was panicking and was half out of his harness when we landed." The togruta didn't seem overly concerned. After all, Strand was under suspicion from the moment they started to go down.

The shuttle was scrap, to be sure. With a little distance, Leia could appreciate how rough the landing had been. Trees had been hewn down in their path. Most of the luggage was stuck up in the branches.

"I suppose that it's a good thing I was never really fond of that dress," Mon Mothma said, looking up at where one case had been cracked open to decorate the jungle foliage. Leia gave a dry chuckle at this. "There's plenty of medical supplies, at least, even if Strand is going to need the majority of them. And we're relatively close to some sort of mining outpost..."

She nodded, only half-listening, still dizzied. "And Vader?"

"Still trying to get himself free." Ahsoka pointed down at the cockpit that had fragmented away.

Leia idly kicked one of the pieces of the wreckage, massaging her temples to try and clear her head. "...Where is...?"

"The other wing? About two clicks that way," Ahsoka said tiredly. "I told you it was a bad landing." At least she seemed to be in relatively good humor about it. Leia likely wouldn't be so cheerful when she could stop being quite so addled.

There was still a bit of smoke coming out from the end of the cockpit where it had split from the rest of the vessel on the way down. Leia limped her way over to see as Ahsoka and Mon Mothma tended to Strand. It was likely only a few minutes before the smoke would become flame, and the flame would spread, and Leia took it upon herself to go yell at Vader until he got to safety. The front of the cockpit had been crumpled, half wrapped around a tree. As soon as she looked in the open and shattered side, Leia saw the problem. Vader was looking remarkably unscathed... right until she saw how his arm was stuck in the remains of the dashboard. From the way he was flexing his fingers, apparently he had just freed himself from where metal had surrounded his other arm with both of them on the handles to guide the craft down.

He glanced over at her, eyes narrowing lightly. "So sorry to disappoint you, Princess, but I happen to still be alive."

"I was going to come and help you," she replied acidly.

"There's only one way to solve this," he grumbled, staring down at his trapped arm. Smoothly, he reached for one of his lightsabers, the red blade illuminating the small cockpit. To Leia's alarm, he didn't even hesitate. Instead he simply brought the blade down to cut off his own arm just above the elbow. Leia expected to only see neatly sliced electronics, but she still jumped in sympathetic pain. He pulled away with a sigh. "There."

"You could have simply asked me for help cutting you free!"

Vader glared flatly at her before gently raising an eyebrow just a hair. "You honestly believe me to trust you with a lightsaber? I haven't suffered _that_ bad a concussion, Princess."

Leia rolled her eyes, sighing through her teeth as she shoved herself off of the wreckage, stumbling back into the underbrush of the small clearing. She walked in small circles, trying to clear her head before eventually coming to crouch down near Mon Mothma and Ahsoka as they tended to Strand. Artoo beeped and whistled in greeting, chattering away at the group.

"At least the nearest settlement isn't too far. Thank you, Artoo," Mon Mothma said, gracious in the face of adversity as always. "It just may be complicated to make sure Strand receives proper medical care."

"I'm afraid there's no stretcher in the remaining medical supplies. Just more bacta patches." Ahsoka shook her head. "I can use some Jedi healing techniques to get him back on his feet, but it will take a few days..."

Leia's head was still swimming, and she rested a moment, forehead in her hands. Vader's voice was enough to startle her back to reality. "If we're going to get through this alive, we _will_ have to split up." He was holding himself as if he was understandably sore... and also casually holding his own arm. It was more than slightly surreal, even if everyone else seemed to be more bothered with it than Vader himself. "What supplies do we have?"

"Only Strand's belongings and the standard survival kit. Half the medical supplies were caught in the fire," Ahsoka said, professional and calm as ever. "Artoo has caught the signal of a small mining outpost - likely illegal - but it should at least be a good first step."

Vader nudged Strand's bag with his toe, trying to make an inventory of what they had. "...Good. Practical clothing."

"You won't need to convince me to not wear a diplomatic dress," Leia muttered before reaching over to grab the most plain set of pants and bland tunic.

"Any all-purpose tape?"

"What, are you planning to try and tape the ship back together?" Vader snapped.

Vader barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes before nearly hitting her over the head as he gestured to her with his own severed arm. "Would you rather have me carrying my arm around like this?"

"...You're going to tape it back on."

"Go ahead and laugh, Princess," he said dryly. The tape took a few fumbling tries to start it off the roll, but it wasn't long before he was applying it to his arm, holding it in his teeth in a sad parody of a drug addict with a makeshift tourniquet. "If we're going to go unrecognized, all of us will have to make changes." Leia's eyes narrowed. "That means no stupidly elaborate updos, Princess."

"..._What?_" She wrinkled her nose as Mon Mothma and Ahsoka watched the brewing argument. "I'm not going to wear my hair down. Not here.[/i]

"Either cut your hair, or expect the Empire to cut your head off. While disguised, the idea is to not keep up your signature image. I'm not sure if you realized that yet, Princess."

Her nostrils flared in irritation. "Fine. But If I'm going to be cutting it -" she jutted her hand out - "I want to do it properly."

Vader's eyes narrowed at her outstretched hand.

"Your lightsaber, _please_."

"If you truly want to swing one so near your head after having no training, go right ahead, Princess." He handed her the blue lightsaber, as if he considered Luke's former weapon to be more suited to her dainty hands.

Leia stared him down in irritation as she reached up to undo her hair, unravelling it to the straight basic braid. The blue blade hovered at her ear before she sliced neatly, her hair springing messily around her face in a lopsided bob.

Vader seemed almost ready to laugh before he paused to cough, raising his still-functioning hand to cover his mouth. Leia's eyes narrowed in now-worried irritation. "...Was that _blood_?"

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"It was a hard enough impact that some internal injuries are likely," Ahsoka said. "Especially with your habit of turning off all of the safeties -"

"The _last_ thing I need is a computer thinking that it's a better pilot than I am -"

"Wait, _wait_. If you're coughing up blood, the last thing we need is to have to drag _you_ through the jungle," Leia snapped, though the stress in her voice showed that there was worry behind her frustration now. She snatched up one of the bottles of bactade and shoved it towards him. "_Here._"

"Absolutely not. I don't need medical supplies wasted on me, and I've been through much worse -"

Mon Mothma interrupted, calm and stately as usual. "I believe I outrank you, Commander. Do I not?"

"...Yes, as Chief of State, you do."

"Good," she said cheerfully, taking the bottle of bactade from Leia and passing it to Vader. "Then drink. And yes, that is an order." She smiled with a certain grace - namely, the serenity that comes from years of wrestling with politicians _and_ having been a mother who has endured temperamental toddlers.

Vader sulkily snatched the bottle and chugged it down.

Ahsoka had already started to sort out the supplies into two groups. Artoo started to whistle in protest, but she smiled. "Don't worry, Artoo. You'll be coming with me." She shifted around to address the entire group. "Splitting up is the wisest course of action now."

"Indeed," Mon Mothma said, nodding as she took out some of the plain and simple clothes from Strand's bag. "We can move more quickly to find the settlement and hopefully some sort of transport off of this planet."

"And I'm likely the only togruta on this rock. Not exactly subtle," Ahsoka said with a dry chuckle.

There was a solid thunk as the thick roll of industrial all-purpose tape landed by Mon Mothma, making her flinch. Her eyes widened slightly at this before Vader gruffly explained while fixing a makeshift sling for his arm: "For your disguise."

"Disguise?"

"If they know the manifest of the ship, they'll be expecting three women total. _Not_ one woman and an unfortunately boyish and svelte man."

Mon Mothma's lips narrowed as if she was deciding to laugh or shout. "I see your point," she finally conceded. "We've got an entire walk to decide on our cover stories."

Vader was squinting at the sky. "There's an energy storm brewing. The sooner we head off, the better." He caught the comlink that Ahsoka tossed to him. "The usual frequency."

"Of course."

Mon Mothma and Leia exchanged a quick glance. The little references between Ahsoka and Vader had been popping up more frequently now. Perhaps they were getting more comfortable with one another, but it was also deeply unnerving to know only that they had worked together, and not any details of what sort of partnership they once had. It was a joke that they weren't in on, and it made both of them slightly anxious.

"Let's get moving."

Fortunately Leia's sprained ankle was helped by the exercise, but Mimban was full of mud and leaves just as she had remembered it. Fortunately Vader went on ahead of them, lightsaber drawn to slash at the thicker growth as they plodded along in a steady march. Heavy humidity pressed down on them, and it wasn't long before both Mon Mothma and Leia were sweeping sweat out of their eyes. With Vader charging ahead, it left them in the back, a relief for each of them. With every step, their minds chewed on the problem of how exactly they had been found out.

And, of course, conversation drifted. Mon Mothma helpfully gave Leia a tip for a hair growth serum as the younger woman became increasingly irritated with the sensation of short hair flying into her face. They started out discussing cover identities and ended up discussing different fashion trends and then just simply gossiping about some of the other politicians within the Alliance. It was a treat for both of them to remember how easy the other was to talk to, especially when the only other alternative was Vader.

Night settled in slowly. The heat barely subsided, but the inky blackness seeped through the trees until they were only following the glow of Vader's lightsaber.

"Here." It was the first word that Vader had spoken in hours, and interrupted a gossipy little conversation they were having about latest vintages of Taris brandies.

"Here?" Leia squinted through the darkness.

Vader gestured widely to the side. "There's a cave here. We'll stop for the night."

"Finally," Leia muttered underneath her breath. Mon Mothma seemed equally relieved, already rolling out her bedroll within the shallow cave's crevice. It was a small opening, but it was at least an opening; the sky above them rumbled ominously.

Dinner was a quiet affair of processed food bars, though Vader perched on a nearby rock as the other two ate. The small lantern in the survival kit didn't cast much light, so Vader's figure was half lost to darkness. Even with his arm hidden in a makeshift sling, he still cut a menacing figure.

It didn't stop Leia from gently nudging the bag of supplies into the crevice so that there was no room for Vader, however.

"Well, we have food," Mon Mothma said cheerfully, having finally arrived at a relevant topic of conversation once more. "Decent shelter, and a plan of what to do next. It could be -"

Vader jerked his head back. "Don't-!"

"...worse."

"_Don't say -_" He hissed with almost paranoia before the first large raindrop landed right on his head. "...That." One raindrop became two, each one large and fat, falling hard enough so that it made an awful racket as they hit the broad leaves of the trees above. The entire forest seemed to become a giant percussion instrument in that moment. And it only took a few moments for Vader, deprived of the shelter of the crevice, to become thoroughly soaked, his beard drooping with water and wet hair in his eyes. Leia had to bite back a laugh: he did look remarkably like some shaggy nerf-herding dog in such a state.

"Whenever you say 'it could be worse'," he explained bitterly, "_it will always get worse_."

"I... see," Mon Mothma said after a moment, eyes wide. "Well, if we're going to be setting up watch in shifts, I can take -"

Vader waved a hand. "No, I'm keeping watch." Leia thought she heard him muttering something underneath his breath about how only one of them needed to get soaked. "We're marching out of here at dawn, and I expect both of you to be ready - so rest." He was having to half-shout over the sound of the storm, now.

Leia didn't need to be told twice. Compared to the raging storm outside, the shallow cave was quite pleasant. There was just enough time for one more half-asleep conversation with Mon Mothma as they both settled in and inched towards dreaming. Vader paced restlessly in the rain, occasionally stopping to roost on one of the larger rocks in the near distance, just where the weak lantern could catch the outline of his form. It was oddly comforting, though Leia barely admitted it to herself, much less anyone else. She knew how harsh Mimban could be. Even if she preferred to do her tours of Mimban's jungles with Luke as her guide, she at least knew that Vader was more than capable of dealing with a few Coway or even a hungry Wandrella.

Deep in the middle of the night, the storm's rain was joined by a fierce display of lightning and a howling gale. Perhaps Leia had been nudged towards consciousness by a bit of spray blowing onto her face from outside the cave. Perhaps she had been dreaming. But she remembered the lightning arcing through the sky, each bright flash accompanied by a roar as if the planet itself was angry with them. And there was Vader, perched on the nearby rock, standing boldly upright. She remembered his cape catching in the wind, his intact hand clenched in a fist. She remembered his wide stance and square shoulders - a bold and determined stance. She remembered how he did not shift against the storm. It was a standoff, as if he was daring nature to do its worst. Perhaps he thought that the natural order of things would see fit to provide the punishment the Rebellion had not. But instead of quietly waiting for a trial, he stood proudly in the storm - challenging it to stop him. Leia watched with half-closed eyes before she finally drifted off to sleep again.

Eventually the storm tapered off to a gentle drizzle, and then finally stopped. When Leia awoke the next morning, muggy and muddy as it was, she had the strangest feeling in the back of her mind that Vader had won his standoff.


	44. Erythrocytic Cycles

Talking was an easy way to pass the time as they trudged through the jungle to the settlement. Leia had forgotten how pleasant it was to talk to Mon Mothma. She was full of stories about the beginning of the Rebellion - of her father, especially. Her true father. Leia refused to think of Vader as anything more than a donor of genetic material. But she did notice Vader's apparently growing impatience with the conversation as he forged ahead, putting extra distance between them, as soon as Mon Mothma started discussing a certain senator from Naboo.

"Senator Amidala? I had to memorize one of her speeches, I think."

"I know. I saw the vid once. You did a wonderful job, memorizing all of it at six."

"The hardest part was that ridiculous dress."

"It was fairly ridiculous. Naboo fashion is very dramatic in a way that makes me glad Chandrila's customs aren't quite as -"

Vader put his hand up, silencing them both. "We're here." The small crest of the hill stood over a walled-in outpost. The prefab plastisteel buildings were only half-covered in vines, and ragged miners wandered the streets, most of them drunk and surly. A typical Imperial strip-mining outpost. It kicked up uncomfortable memories of the last time Leia had been on Mimban. At least this bunch didn't have strict uniforms, so they blended in a little more comfortably. When they were all standing side by side, Leia glanced over to Vader. He was panting, and reached up to wipe some sweat from his forehead. Leia's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're looking... pale."

"I'll be fine," he said gruffly.

"I wasn't asking about that, and you know it," Leia snapped.

Mon Mothma piped up, even as she was in the middle of ruffling her hair to try and look slightly more boyish. "You are looking worse for the wear. Moreso than just after a night in the rain."

Vader didn't say anything for a few long moments, shifting his weight as if trying to physically dodge the question. "I spent over twenty years in a suit with its own airscrubber unit thanks to a compromised immune system. I'm sure you can figure out why I may have let the usual booster panel lapse."

Leia groaned. "And reticulocytic fever is endemic on Mimban, just like many other colonized jungle worlds." She reached up to pinch her nose as if warding off a headache.

"Like I said. _I'll be fine._"

"Reticulocytic fever is lethal if left untreated -"

"In approximately fifteen percent of cases. I still have decent odds."

Leia half-slid down the small hill to the settlement's broken walls where they could easily walk through a gap. "And unless you're given treatment, complications are going to - at the very least - momentarily sideline you -"

"I'll be fine."

"There's a clinic, I'm sure -"

"_I WILL BE FINE._" Vader bit out his answer through clenched teeth. "Reticulocytic fever is a reportable disease because of the high infection rate. Then there will come questions as to why I haven't gotten any booster shots since they're subsidized throughout the galaxy. And in case you've forgotten, Princess, the purpose of being in disguise is to _not_ have people asking questions."

Mon Mothma sighed deeply, coming up behind both of them, patting them both on the shoulder. "As much as I find this entertaining," she said cheerfully, "let's continue this argument when all of us are safely on a Rebellion vessel, and focus for the moment on getting out of here, shall we?" She gently pushed them along into the squalid and muddy streets. Leia shook her head, gritting her teeth in irritation as her hair hit her cheeks. Vader shrugged his coat over to one side to cover his arm in its sling. Fortunately they only attracted the occasional suspicious glare.

"The clinic's this way -"

"For the last kriffing time, _we are not going to the clinic_."

"Isn't irritability one of the symptoms of reticulocytic fever?"

"Not sure how you're able to tell," Mon Mothma said dryly.

There was plenty of noise and commotion to lead them to the greasy cantina. Every item of food being served seemed to be deep-fried at least once, if not twice, and the most popular beverage seemed to be some slightly-gritty and very alcoholic sludge dispensed from a distillery clearly seen behind the bar. It was all chaos and smoke and scummy filth. Merely looking at it made Leia want to go immediately take a shower. Stepping inside it only got worse.

At least she was able to be somewhat amused by how Vader adopted a slouching swagger. She was less amused by the twang that entered his voice. It reminded her too much of Luke - it was the half-drawl of a Tatooine hick who had grown up in a miserable dustbowl, not anyone remotely dignified. "Evening."

"Evenin'." The bartender looked them over suspiciously, but wasn't overtly hostile.

"Captain Lars Quell. Looking for a ship to hire out. Ours..." He thumbed vaguely in the direction of the forest. "Caught in an energy storm. Went down hard."

The bartender shook his head, sticking his bottom lip out lightly. "No pilots for hire here."

Vader gave the bartender a crooked smile. Perhaps he was overdoing it, but it wasn't as if there had been time for him to take lessons in swaggering around like classy scum from Lando before they came. Besides, the bravado almost suited him. "We look like ruffians to you? We're not gonna steal anyone's ship. That's just Princess and Red." He drawled their new nicknames, and Mon Mothma barely kept from laughing while Leia silently fumed.

"No. I mean, there ain't any pilots for hire here," the bartender said more firmly. "All'a us came shuttled in. Only pilot here is Mirax." He gestured to a man in a corner who was laughing drunkenly. "Never flies th' damn thing. Just sits in here an' wins sabacc games. Think he won his ship off'a someone who decided to wager it. Never actually taken it out. Never loses a single damn game."

Vader's eyes lit up. "Never?"

"Yeah, never."

Leia's jaw set, and she resisted the urge to shake him by the shoulder and ask what he was doing. This only intensified as the bartender's grin became wolfish. "Want me t' set up a game?" That leer could only mean one thing: the bartender got a cut of Mirax's profits."

He matched the bartender's smile with a vicious one of his own. "Oh. Certainly."

"An' what're you gonna put up for a bet? Your ship's just a pile a' scrap in the jungle..."

Leia and Mon Mothma shared a worried glance before Vader pointed mutely to Leia. The noise she gave was somewhere between a scream of rage and a strangled squeak. "_What?_"

"Tell Mirax I'm putting her up as my side of the bet, and tell him to get over here and deal." Leia spluttered madly, turning red in the face, and he turned to give her a thoroughly smarmy smile as if he was enjoying his role as Captain Quell a little too much. "And Princess? Shut up."

Mon Mothma reached out to firmly grab Leia's shoulder, holding her back. "We'll have, ah..." She spoke in her lowest tone possible, actually managing to strike an appropriately ambiguous note before Vader interrupted her.

"Three of whatever's the usual here."

The bartender was smirking outright now. "You're actually going to drink skumuh?" He couldn't help but give a laugh, muttering something underneath his breath about how this was going to be great. Vader took his mug of thick, sludgy liquor with a smile, toasting mid-air before going over to the corner table with the bartender and the man apparently named Mirax.

Leia was nearly shaking with rage as she desperately tried to not completely lose her temper and cause a scene. As soon as the assistant bartender slid their drinks down, she seized the cup of skumuh and choked down a large gulp.

"...We'll get out of here fine, I'm sure," Mon Mothma said, lowering her voice, hand still on Leia's shoulder.

"_Ugh_! It's like drinking an alcoholic swamp!" Leia grimaced at the drink as if marveling how anything could be disgusting before draining the rest of the glass.

Mon Mothma sighed, looking over to the corner where Vader had sprawled out in a chair and the bartender was starting to deal out the sabacc cards. "I have a... bad feeling about this," she murmured, before going to chew on a sip of her drink.


	45. Cytokine Cascade

"You realize that I can't actually allow you to murder him, dear," Mon Mothma muttered in a slightly tipsy and maternal way.

"Murder him? No." Leia's hands pawed at her glass. "I might be entertaining fantasies of strangling him, just a little. But no. I'm going to take all his armor, _all of it_, and dye it the most obnoxious color I can possibly find. Bright pink."

"I'd recommend a nice mauve, myself. It's just dignified enough that he might be forced to keep it on."

"And when he's knocked out recovering from reticulocytic fever, I'm going to braid all of his hair. All of it. Thousands of little twee obnoxious bows." Leia gritted her teeth before taking another sip of her drink. "Seven hells! How does he drink this? How does _anyone_ drink this? ...and more importantly, how long does a sabacc game take?"

They both turned to glare at the table in the corner. Vader seemed, if anything, to be enjoying himself. He had sprawled out lazily in one of the chairs, looking all the world like some smuggler captain. He had even been given a cigarra to enjoy while the others smoked, though he was merely chewing on it like a prop instead of lighting it. He was, however, on his third drink. A dirty joke was told and the group laughed - Leia could tell its content merely from their jeering grins. That moment of laughter flowed smoothly into Vader slamming his cards down on the table and scooping the pile of credit chits and datasticks that made up the pot. Vader kept smiling. Everyone else's smiles fell off their faces. Two looked like they were expecting to lose. Mirax, however, immediately stood up, going red in the face. "You... you're a goddamn cheat!"

Vader smoothly pocketed the datastick with security codes to his newly-won starship and gave the other man a thoroughly irritating smile. "Did I? Thought it was just your luck running out."

Mirax huffed. "You're a dirty cheat! I know it! I dunno how, but you - you're a cheat! I should'a won! _I should'a won!_" His voice rose to a furious howl as they all stood up and the cantina patrons turned in their seats to watch. Vader didn't step back even as Mirax advanced, bristling. There was only one explanation for the man's anger - the cheater had just been cheated. And now everyone was looking forward to the ensuing fight.

"You did agree to leave it to chance," Vader said, grinning, but he was abruptly cut off as Mirax punched him. He staggered back before reaching up to note the small bit of blood on his now-split lip. The entire room abruptly quieted - obviously the calm before the storm - and as Vader reached up with his good hand to wipe at his lip, admiring the blood. "That..." His voice was low and dangerous, losing a bit of the Tatooineian drawl. "...was a very bad idea." He reached back slowly before grabbing a glass bottle of cheap wine off of a table and smashing it in one smooth movement, brandishing the jagged broken bottle.

All it took was Vader's first flinch forward and the entire cantina broke into chaos. Drinks went sailing across the room to smash on walls. Someone stuck their cigarra in their bottle of liquor to create a makeshift molotov cocktail. Mon Mothma grabbed Leia's shoulder, both of them diving down to dodge a yelping slave sliding down the counter. Just one spark was enough to set off the wild fight. Somehow they managed to dive near to Vader as he dodged back, gripping his makeshift weapon tightly. "Run!"

"_What?_" Leia shouted over the chaos.

"_RUN!_" He roared, actually looking back at them this time to glare. Fortunately he was able to pull away from the fighting long enough to dash for the back exit. The cantina had been a powderkeg waiting for a spark - and they happened to be that spark. But the flames didn't follow them out. The alleyway was squalid, but it was enough to let them momentarily catch their breath.

Vader was panting, and now Leia could more clearly see the paleness of his skintone and the dark circles underneath his eyes. "That didn't quite go according to plan."

"Plan? That was a _plan?_" Leia hissed in irritation. "Your plan was to put me up as a bargaining chip -"

"I may be a bastard, Princess, but even I have standards!" He snapped back, blindly leading the group through the wandering streets.

There were shouts as the cantina fight finally spilled out into the streets. Stormtroopers rushed out in formation, their white armor grimy and dirty. The outdated PA system crackled on with a warning to obey curfew and that rioters would be strictly punished. As they hung back in a side alleyway, Leia glared daggers at Vader while trying to push her hair back out of her face. "So, what's the plan now?" She snapped acidly.

He took a few deep breaths, watching the glimpses of stormtroopers through the streets. Truthfully, he was thinking about how this was not going to end well because he was thinking too much like Anakin again. Stupid rash decisions and impulses. But as if to explain, he mutely held up the datastick he had won in his good hand. There was no question was to what it contained. It meant that a ship was theirs, and there was at least some chance of getting off of the planet. "This way," Vader grunted. "It looks like they're heading to create a roadblock. Likely they'll be looking for us as outsiders... instigators..." He shook his head before ducking around a corner.

It was too late to double back. Leia didn't register what had happened - at first she only saw his back straighten as he froze in apparent fear. As Mon Mothma and Leia followed, it became obvious why.

An Imperial officer leveled a blaster pistol at them, stormtroopers behind him, all the rifles pointed directly at their small group. "Lars Quell," the officer said crisply. "You are under arrest for inciting a riot on Imperial territory -"

"Lucien Vivax. How pleasant to see you." The farmboy twang was completely gone from Vader's voice. He had drawn himself up to his full impressive height, squaring his shoulders, looking distinctly menacing. Despite the obvious sickness he was battling, he had suddenly become Vader - though the dark circles under his eyes seemed to suit him. Leia grit her teeth. It figured. She had always assumed Vader was a sick bastard, though she hadn't expected to see it so literally.

"That is Captain-Supervisor Vivax to you, _sirrah_," the officer snapped, even though his eyebrows knit in apparent frustration. He hadn't yet fired, however.

"No, Lucien, it isn't," Vader replied, smiling. "I heard you were stuck here after the divorce. I suppose it can't be pleasant to have your ex-wife so significantly outrank you." His voice was downright friendly, and it scared Leia on a deep and fundamental level. At least with him in the black suit and dramatic ominous presence, you knew what you were getting. This false sweetness unnerved her. "Ah, but you still have your girl with you, don't you? Calixte? What would she be now - seven, eight?" Vader's smile was wolfish and predatory as he took one small step forward.

Vivax gulped, holding his gun firmly. "You will stop there, sirrah, or I will shoot. And I _will_ have you tortured to find out how you know such information -" It was a desperate bid to reclaim control of the situation.

"No you won't. Not unless you want to die exactly like Captain-Supervisor Grammel."

"But that's utterly impossible," Vivax scoffed. "Grammel was killed by Vader..." His voice trailed off as Vader locked eyes with him, still wearing a smile that seemed to contain far too many fangs to even be called a smile at all. Silently, Vader reached for his lightsaber, pulling it out with a slow flourish. Its blade came out with a snap, glowing blood-red. The color drained from Vivax's face, and he gaped. "Oh, gods... the rumors are _true_..."

"I'm a reasonable man, Lucien. I'm also ruthless. You know that if you fire that first shot, not only will your men die, but you will die. I will make sure that, unlike Grammel, you will die slowly and painfully. Just think of where that would leave your poor little Calixte." The false sweetness was definitely starting to make Leia nervous, now. She shared a long glance with Mon Mothma, who did nothing. But the older woman's pursed lips said all that Leia needed to know.

For the moment, all they could do was trust him.

Vivax didn't respond, nostrils flaring in panting, fearful breaths. "But as I said, I'm a reasonable man. You can simply... let us go. Lose the reports. Say that you were unable to catch me. In four hours, have three speeders at the southwest exit gate with a full month's supplies for a group of five. They will mysteriously go missing. You don't case us. I don't kill you. And little Calixte might be able to have a childhood of something other than being ignored by her mother." Vader was still smiling, but his words were firm as he bargained. Leia tried to hide her surprise. It was amazing that he would be so pushy when odds - and the situation - were obviously not in their favor. And as she watched his face, she saw the sweat on his forehead, the deep breaths he was taking - the way she could tell just by standing next to him that his skin positively glowed with feverish heat - surely this would all end badly...

"Done." Vivax squeaked out, trying to look dignified. But he didn't drop his gun. "Troops, tactical retreat formation 9-A. Do not fire a single shot." He barely inclined his head in a nod as he backed away slowly. The stormtroopers had no such grace after the first few steps, most of them breaking into a jog.

Soon they were alone in the dirty alleyway. Vader gave a long sigh of relief, sheathing his lightsaber and putting it back on his belt.

Leia lowered her own pistol, her hands shaking somewhat. "Was _that_ part of the plan?"

"Not entirely," Vader admitted, sounding exhausted.

Mon Mothma politely cleared her throat as if trying to stop an argument before it began. "I take it the speeders are to give us enough time to locate Ahsoka, Strand and Artoo, as well as the ship?"

"No," Vader said quickly, staring off into the distance as if still able to see Vivax even though he had gone. "We're going to rig the autopilot to head about a hundred clicks away from here and send them off."

"_What?_ And waste the supplies?"

"Vivax isn't stupid. Every single one of them will have geolocator tracking devices." Vader shook his head. "The longer he spends combing the jungle for us, the less attention we'll attract here." There was a hoarseness entering his voice - the sickness was getting worse - but he still paced like an anxious cat, staring up through the makeshift city to what were presumably the Captain-Supervisor's quarters and estate.

"Of course, the geolocators mean Vivax is going to break our agreement. And that means..." Vader ran his tongue momentarily along his teeth in thought, tracing the shape of one of his canines. "When night falls, I'll have to pay him a visit..."


	46. Beatrix Kiddo

There was exactly one reason Captain-Supervisor Vivax had insisted that the new outpost be located near some of the ancient ruins that dotted Mimban. The old temple certainly did make for an impressive headquarters. It towered over the makeshift town below, and there were plenty of rooms for dungeons and barracks. But Vivax had one very good reason: he wanted the top room, because it had the best acoustics.

His daughter Calixte had her clavicord set up in the corner, and was busy tapping out a tune. It was simple and somewhat meandering, but she played well, biting at her tongue in concentration as she read the notes projected on the holoscreen. Vivax was busy staring at his own holoscreen, a broad smile crossing his lips as more reports rolled in.

"...Daddy, did you like it? Daddy?"

Vivax jerked his head up. Truthfully, he hadn't been listening. He had been staring at the geotracking data from the speeders that had been given to Vader as a peace offering. They were already winding into the forest. Between the booby-traps threaded all throughout the speeders and the reward he had already offered, the group of rebels was mincemeat. If they weren't caught in the explosion of the timed bombs, all the miners with free time were out combing the jungle. Vivax had offered a reward worth a year's pay if one of them dragged back proof of death of Captain Lars Quell. Better they not know that it was actually Vader they were hunting. Might cause panic.

"Beautiful, dear." He gave his daughter a vague, gushing smile.

She smiled brightly at him. "Do you think Mother will like it?"

"I'm sure she will, Calix." She puffed her chest out in pride. "Why don't you try it again, to make sure you've really got it down?" Truthfully, Vivax had to pay attention elsewhere. Better to keep his darling daughter occupied.

He did not realize - nobody realized - that Vader was currently clawing his way up the side of the wall, gritting his teeth ashe pulled himself up, mentally cursing the fact that he was down one arm. Vader finally flopped up over the top of the spire with a huff before dusting himself off lightly and pulling himself up to his full and dignified height. The corridors of the ancient temple were quiet and it was easy to slip through the shadows. In fact, he was barely noticed until he entered Vivax's office.

The man gave a startled gasp, flinching, but Vader put his one good hand up. "I know your hand is on the panic button, Vivax, but do you really believe that your stormtroopers can get here before I kill you both?"

"Daddy?" The girl whimpered, and Vivax bristled. "Calix, stay there -"

"Relax." Vader took one predatory step forward. Vivax had never remembered seeing vids of the man's gait being so rolling and graceful. Wasn't he supposed to lumber around in armor? Or was this some new creature, stripped of its confinement, that seemed to almost melt into the shadows? His hand hovered above the panic button. "I'm here to talk to you, Vivax... as one father to another."

Now _that_was enough to get his attention.

Calixte gave a small whine of fear, and very slowly, Vivax leaned forward. He locked eyes with Vader - he would have never guessed such a tyrant would have such pale blue eyes - and took a deep calming breath. "F... fine. Tell me why you're here."

Vader gestured widely, palm up. "You have something I need. The codes for the anti-air guns that I'm sure you've powered up by now, just in case we try to slip away. You remember our deal, don't you?" Another step forward. Vivax gulped solidly, feeling the sweat start to bead on his brow. "A fairly simple extension of that plan. You let us go... I let you live." The room was starting to swell with energy that even Vivax could feel, perhaps as nothing more than the hair standing on the back of his neck. He didn't notice how the fingers of Vader's upturned palm began to gently twitch, as if beckoning something to him. "I need those codes, Captain-Supervisor. You know what our deal is."

"I'm not prepared to -"

He never got to finish his sentence as a decorative blade hanging on the back of the wall lodged itself in the base of his neck. As blood poured into his collar, his face went slack. Calixte screamed. The girl stared, trembling, wide-eyed in fear. But as Vivax finally keeled over into his desk, Vader started searching his belongings in a professional way. "D... Daddy?" The little girl squeaked before finally rushing forward and grabbing her father around the shoulders, shaking him in vain. "Daddy! _Daddy!_"

Vader calmly retrieved a datastick, pocketing it. As he moved, the girl cowered away from him, and she started to sob outright. But his voice was quite calm and suddenly, abruptly, nonthreatening. "I'm sorry that your father was too clever for his own good. Believe me when I say I did not actually want for things to end this way." The girl trembled, but finally looked up to him. "It's understandable that you'll be upset. So, in... ten, fifteen years... if you feel the need to get your revenge..." He was solemn and calm even as he said it. "If I'm still alive, I'll make sure you know where to find me. And I promise you a fair fight."

Calixte sobbed hysterically, clutching to her father's cooling corpse. Vader gave her one last nod before turning, smoothly walking out of the room. Before he seemed to disappear back into the shadows, he did turn back.

"Oh, and Calixte... good luck on your recital."

Vader gave her a bright smile, patted the door frame as if to say goodbye, and slipped out into the shadows and the humid night of Mimban.

((A/N: Sorry about the duplication before, everyone! It's now fixed. c: ))


	47. Quinine

Leia was becoming increasingly annoyed with Imperial security on Mimban. To be more specific, she was annoyed that there was any Imperial security at all. Apparently the days of leaving the keys in the landspeeders were gone.

That wasn't stopping them for long. Pale and haggard-looking as he was, Vader was already in the bowels of the largest landspeeder, picking out wires to get the machine working despite the security locks. Mon Mothma paced behind them, listening intently to a stolen comm unit as it chirped out Imperial announcements and news. That left Leia watching Vader, mainly out of the worry that at any moment he would drop out of the landspeeder in a dead faint.

"And you're sure that you can get past all of these security locks?" She asked incredulously.

"It's a vehicle," Vader replied flatly. "It can be hotwired."

Leia smirked a little. "Any vehicle? Including star ships?" Vader nodded once. "I can't believe that. How would you even hotwire, oh, I don't know… the Death Star?"

"In that case…" He leaned out of the bottom of the landspeeder to make sure she saw as he gestured to his head. "You just make the short circuit run right between the Emperor's temples."

Leia couldn't help a laugh escaping from her. "That… was actually clever." A moment more and she caught herself. Had she honestly just laughed at one of Vader's jokes? She had definitely been in this damn jungle too long… At least there was a clear exit planned. Ahsoka had contacted them via comm, only a short message but short would do. They had the coordinates of the spaceship Vader had won in the sabacc game, and Ahsoka would meet them there.

Oddly, there had been no mention of Representative Strand.

Leia was about to ask when Mon Mothma came up from behind her, facing down Vader with a terrible frown on her face. Mon Mothma didn't seem to be capable of true anger, instead opting for maternal soul-crushing disappointment - but there was something in her eyes that was definitely furious. "Commander Vader."

He leaned out of the bowels of the machine, tone crisp and professional. "Yes?"

"Is it true that you killed Vivax in front of his daughter."

His mouth drew into a taunt, thin frown, lips going white under the pressure of it.

Mon Mothma didn't raise her voice: if anything it made it more terrifying. "I want an answer, Commander."

"Yes. It's true."

Her nostrils flared momentarily in irritation. "I realize," she bit out, "that you may not recognize common decency, but I hope you do still recognize the chain of command. And I do still very much outrankg you. And you can consider this an order: you will absolutely minimize further collateral damage of this sort. Do I make myself clear?"

Vader didn't even look at her. Instead his expression hardened as he seemed to stare down the wiring of the speeder. "Yes, Chief of State."

"And under no circumstances will you injure or threaten a child in such a manner again."

Leia gulped softly. Despite the sweltering heat of Mimban's jungle, there was a distinct chill in the air. Vader said nothing, and Mon Mothma raised her voice. "Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

Vader muttered softly to himself. "Admittedly a sloppy job. Shouldn't have left a witness."

"I SAID, COMMANDER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes. Understood, Chief of State."

Leia took a few steps back, sighing. It was becoming more and more obvious that this was a powderkeg waiting for a match to explode. If even Mon Mothma's temper was starting to fray, what chance did she have, much less Vader?

Thankfully, Vader hopped down and slammed the panel of the landspeeder shut. Even as he swayed and hastily caught himself to keep from falling over in dizziness, the machine spluttered to life before its motor gave a steady and downright polite thrumming purr. They silently climbed up into it and Vader keyed in the coordinates of their rondevous… before slumping back to one of the back seats. Leia said nothing, but quietly took the pilot's seat. For Vader to pass up the opportunity to pilot meant that he truly must be feeling awful.

As he sat quietly in the back with his hand over his eyes, he fortunately didn't let on how bad off he really was. For one thing, he had definitely reached the stage of reticulocytic fever that brought with it hallucinations. At least he was pretty sure he had. If the forest floor really had turned into lava, the other two likely would have said something by now.

Leia kept sneaking glanced back at him. Vader looked like hell warmed over. Actually, hell warmed over would probably look a lot better. She would have expected Vader to have dark circles underneath his eyes and deathly pale skin, at least if you had asked her a few years ago she would have described him as such. But after getting used to him looking, well, relatively normal, it was a shock to see him that way. Nobody was looking especially nice after a few days in the wild, and Vader was no exception; his usually well-trimmed beard was now wreathed with stubble. She wasn't even sure he had eaten anything substantial in the past few days. …unless she counted the moonshine he had worked his way through at the Cantina. Leia tried to deny it, as it meant that she was - perhaps - starting to feel some sort of family connection, but she was starting to get deeply worried about him.

Vader's chest had almost started to rise and fall in steady, sleepy breaths when a shot came from behind them. He bolted upright, hissing a curse, and Leia tensed, weaving between the trees of the thick forest. On nimble speeder-bikes, a few of the miners had caught up with them, apparently heading directly to the site of the ship instead of tailing them. One of them gave a war-whoop and lined up a shot that they narrowly avoided. Vader drew his lightsaber, though he was still shaky and bleary-eyed.

"Over here!" Ahsoka's voice was a welcome respite; Leia barely had time to get the landspeeder somewhat stationary before they had to leap out. Now the blaster fire was coming thick, and the togruta reached out with the force to wedge the landspeeder between two trees. A makeshift barrier, but it would do. It was only a short sprint to the open starship, but even a short sprint was too much when blaster fire was coming so thick. One of the shots sent sparks showering down on top of Leia's head; she winced and gritted her teeth. Ahsoka, meanwhile, gave Vader a quick once-over glance. "You look awful. Try not to keel over until we're actually on the ship."

"It's lovely to see you as well, Snips," Vader bit out through gritted teeth. He had to pause to wipe some sweat out of his eyes before leaning out of cover just long enough to deflect a blaster bolt back to its shooter; there was a scream as the miner-turned-mercenary fell. Artoo hopped back and forth from his perch just inside the ship while delivering a steady stream of hoots and whistles. Leia couldn't tell if the little droid was cheering them on or telling them to hurry up. …Probably both.

Mon Mothma leaned out to pick off another of the mercenaries, and shortly after, the booming voice of their leader. "Come on out! You idiots really think this Lars Quell is worth dying for? We'll split the ransom with you…!" It was an obvious ruse, accompanied with a scattering of laughter.

"Lars Quell?" Ahsoka repeated, grinning lopsidedly. "Feeling nostalgic?"

"No. Just lazy." Vader snapped back. But even as they stared at each other, expressions inscrutable, they seemed to be formulating a silent plan. "We've got a head-start."

"Mmm. It's doable." Both of them drew their lightsabers, the blades humming steadily. "Princess Organa, Mon Mothma? Get ready to move." Both of them nodded curtly in response, holding their blasters close. Ahsoka's voice was calm, authoritative, and soothing compared to Vader's usual snappishness. "On my count. Three, two, one - and - run!"

They sprinted towards the ship's open cargo bay, Vader and Ahsoka running alongside. Vader and Ahsoka's lightsabers whirled so quickly it seemed they almost made a solid screen, but there was no way that any stray shot was getting through. The group of miners gave a communal, predatory howl, all of them scrambling to try and give chase - but it was too late. They disappeared into the ship, and were gone.

Almost to spite them, Leia ran to the cockpit, setting the main battery of guns on the mercenaries even as the ship rose into the air. Vader handed off the security codes to Artoo, who was apparently content to pilot it mostly alone, though Mon Mothma awkwardly sat in the pilot's chair after a long moment's pause. The ship was old, thoroughly dusty, and had its fair share of awkward squeaks and groans; it was smaller than the Falcon and surely had some mess of mechanical problems they were going to encounter momentarily from sitting in the jungle so long, but… it would get them off Mimban and into friendly arms on Circarpous IV.

It was then that there was enough silence and space for Leia to grab ahold of Ahsoka's arm. "Tano -"

Her smile was pleasant as she turned around. "Yes, Princess Organa?"

"Representative Strand…?" There had been no sign of him with her and Artoo, and that fact was making Leia increasingly uncomfortable.

"Ah… yes." The togruta looked behind her shoulder to make sure Mon Mothma and Artoo were making do piloting the ship, but with such a relatively short trip, there wasn't much to it. With the security passcodes, the defenses around Mimban were easily bypassed, and it seemed that the heightened Imperial presence had dissipated after their crash. "A rather unfortunate thing."

Leia frowned, folding her hands over her chest. "What sort of unfortunate thing?"

"He admitted to giving the Empire information about this trip in exchange for money." Ahsoka's face remained perfectly placid. "A hefty sum, as I recall. He mentioned that it was perhaps enough to pay a ransom for his girlfriend, whom the Empire had also kidnapped." She blinked once, blue eyes calm. "I sympathized. Somewhat. He asked for a boon, and we played cards to determine his fate."

Leia raised her eyebrows. "And…?"

"He won."

"And then you decided you couldn't let a traitor get away, or…?"

"Nothing of the sort, Organa. I keep my promises." A smile flashed across her face. "He asked to merely be left to the jungle. Letting fate be the executioner, if you will. Quite a sensible idea." The smile came across her face again and stayed there. It was a perfectly nice expression. And it seemed sincere. Leia just couldn't figure out why it made her nervous.

"Well, ah… thank you. I trust you'll make a full report in time when we're back at base. I'm going to go… check on the medical stores, see if there's any bactaid I can try to force down Vader's throat," she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Ahsoka laughed. "For all the time I've known him, getting him to accept treatment is like trying to force a nexu to swallow a pill." There was genuine warmth there, and Leia relaxed. Perhaps she had just been imagining things before. Yes, that was it. Just unresolved tension from the battle making her unduly suspicious of Ahsoka. "Good luck! I'll be up here in the cockpit if you need me. We should be in a friendly city within the hour, it seems, since we're just going one world over."

Leia nodded before striding back into the ship. It was certainly grimy and dusty, but not completely awful. The showers likely didn't work, but there was still an emergency supply of food bars, and the holo-game table was even still intact. Perhaps the medical supplies were in the cabinet that seemed to be just to the left of the entrance to another room - perhaps the captain's cabin, from what Leia could glance of it. All she had to do was check - but what she heard next made her stop in her tracks.

"Hnngh. Stop taunting me, you saucy wench."

Vader's voice. That was definitely Vader's voice. Slurred, definitely, in a way that suggested he was finally admitting to himself how bad off he was. Still.

"Gods, I have been waiting for this for so long…"

A loud thump, though one with a bit of spring to it. Leia worked up her courage before peering around the corner of the doorway. Vader had… fallen face-forward onto the bed. The most lewd thing he'd done was to take his shirt off, yet amusingly not his boots, though they did dangle off the edge and drip mud onto the floor. Given a few moments, the tape holding his severed arm on finally let go, and it fell to the floor with a pathetic clatter.

Walking on tiptoe, Leia entered the room. "…Vader?"

No response. She took a moment to check if he was still breathing. Yes, he was. That was good at least. "Vader, are you all right?"

Still nothing.

"…Hey. Hey. Commander Idiot, are you in there?"

Nothing except a light snore. Leia's eyebrows rose: she was genuinely impressed. Ahsoka rounded the corner, looking at the scene and chuckling. "This is what he does, I'm afraid. A few days of heavy sleeping and he'll be fine, or at least he swears he'll be."

"Is he asleep or has he honestly passed out?" Leia asked incredulously, prodding Vader's limp shoulder.

"There's one sure way to find out." Ahsoka leaned in over his head before cheerfully cooing in a sing-song voice: "Ooooohh, Skygu—"

She didn't get the rest of the word out. Vader's good hand snapped up and over her mouth, and some assortment of invectives were lost in a hazy mumble that the pillow swallowed. A few seconds later and Vader's arm dropped back down; a few more seconds, and another snore.

"Just asleep," Ahsoka said cheerfully.

In fact, he continued to sleep through the short journey and even through the landing on Circarpous IV. Even as some friendly medics hesitantly approached him to carry him out, he could only manage some mumbled flailing and vague threats. As hilarious as it was, Leia was also relieved to hear from the medics that he was going to be just fine.

…Even if it interrupted her hour-long shower.


	48. All That Remains

An Ithorian was rare to see among the ranks, but to her credit, Yulis Mirrar was proving herself to be an extremely iron-willed woman. After all, she was the only one who apparently still had strength enough to stare down Commander Vader.

"It's policy, Commander," she repeated firmly, her voice a typical Ithorian burbling lilt. "Because unlike the Empire, the Rebellion actually cares about the mental health and well-being of its soldiers."

Vader's eyes narrowed to slits. "I can assure you that it is better for everyone's health, both mental and physical, if I am allowed to go straight back to the battlefield."

The Ithorian remained unimpressed. "The rules and regulations are there for everyone's health and safety, Commander. Not just your own. And as per those regulations, you are already three months and five major encounters past the required maximum." She gave a slow blink. "I cannot bend the rules further for you, especially in light of your recent illness."

He gritted his teeth. As Yulis was apparently keen to remind him, that had been an incredibly embarrassing affair. Ahsoka's predictions were correct, and after three days of sleeping hard and occasionally muttering curses at whatever orderly came to see about medication, Vader was back on his feet as if nothing at all had happened. Perhaps he had spent some time sulkily reattaching his prosthetic arm, but as far as he was concerned, the matter was completely done with. It was just everyone else who were determined to blow it out of proportion.

"I can give you two options, Commander," Yulis burbled in a low hum. "One, you take the mandated two days of leave. Two, you undergo a thorough psychological and physical examination. Out of these, one option is much more pleasant than the other."

The two stared each other down for a few more long moments before Vader finally gave a long and irritated sigh. "…Fine. I'll take the leave," he snarled, sluggishly signing the order on the datapad before stomping out of the room.

Of course the Rebellion would be choking on damn health and safety. It only made sense, and was likely the reason they were losing this war. The more Vader thought about it, he loathed it. Perhaps it made sense for the common bright-eyed grunt, scooped up from some obscure outer rim world, but if they couldn't even be bothered to grant him an exception… No, someone had to be insisting that this rule cover him as well. Organa. It had to be her. Under other circumstances he might have been able to see it for the caring anxiousness that it truly was, mostly because spotting it would have been a way to truly annoy her. But after days of bed rest, he was anxious to get working on something - anything…

When he finally reached his quarters, things were quiet as usual. No reason for them to be different. If he were messier, he could have wasted time cleaning, but his possessions were so few that even if he tried he couldn't be completely disorganized. The very idea of watching a vid or reading a novella seemed abhorent. His body still ached, so practicing relentlessly for the next battle seemed to be out - and besides, Organa would probably figure it out and start fussing at him. There was a space station, quite a nice one by all accounts, but Vader could hardly see himself at one of the cantinas or going for a stroll shopping.

His quarters were far more empty than he had realized.

It was a sullen sort of sadness that festered quietly in him and finally propelled him to get up. Fortunately the ship was large enough to have a small officer's lounge, staffed by a very fresh-faced looking recruit as bartender. When Vader curtly delivered his order, the recruit's jaw dropped.

"…Th-the… the entire case, sir?"

"Yes, I believe I made myself clear. The entire case of Hapan Malbec."

The recruit paled, skin tone going white by at least a few shades. The wine was literally priceless: it had been a gift from the Hapan Consortium. By all accounts just one bottle would be more than an infantryman's yearly salary if put up to auction. Technically they were part of the Rebellion's coffers, and technically up for sale along with the rest of the liquor… but to buy the entire case… The recruit was still stuttering even as Vader snatched a datapad from him and signed it, transferring the funds from his personal account into the Rebellion's. It left him, he had to admit, pleasingly low on funds. "And no need to arrange delivery. I'll carry it out myself."

And he did with surprising dexterity, seemingly unconcerned about any of the finely-crafted bottles shattering open.

Hours later, Leia stood talking to the same recruit, massaging her temples.

"Just… go over this again, please."

"He just walked out with the entire case," the recruit stuttered flusteredly. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't know what else to do. I mean, the price has got to pay for a few new x-wings at the very least, and it was technically for sale…?"

"And you were not aware he was on forced… er, highly recommended leave… correct?" Her voice was calm for the moment but held a very dangerous edge.

The recruit gulped. "N-no, ma'am, I didn't. I just supposed he was… holding a party, or… something?" He laughed. "Y-yeah, now that I say it, it doesn't really make sense, does it…"

"No. It doesn't." Leia paused to take another deep breath. "Thank you for your time." Her smile was still half a snarl as she briskly walked out of the officer's lounge. Within a few minutes she was at the door she knew led to Vader's spartan quarters, and it only took her a few seconds to start knocking hard on the transparisteel. "VADER!" She winced, hitting her knuckles at just the wrong angle to make it really hurt. "Vader, I know you're in there, damn it! OPEN THE DOOR!"

"It's unlocked," he called back nonchalantly.

Leia paused before actually checking. It was, indeed, unlocked. She gave a long sigh before hauling open the door. Vader was sitting with his back turned to her, slouching in his chair far more than normal. One bottle of the rich wine had already been emptied. It seemed like he was already about to be finished with the second very soon. "If you wanted a glass, Princess, you could have simply asked."

She didn't want to admit that the wine smelled heavenly, and the snobbish part of her was all too eager to indulge in a glass of priceless drink. But there were more pressing matters. "You do realize that your days of leave are to improve your mental health, not make it worse? What exactly do you think you're doing with the entire case of Hapan Malbec?"

He considered his half-full glass, then looked at her, and gave a small shrug. "Drinking it." Vader paused to take another sip. "I'm told that's generally what people do with wine."

Leia sighed, pinching her nose and looking up as if hoping that Luke would appear in the rafters like some saintly presence to advise her to be calm. "Not… an entire case… in a night. You were given time off to… I don't know. Make up for lost time in your hobbies? Write messages to…. uh… friends…" She started to stumble over her words. "And generally relax."

She had moved to stand in front of him, and he merely gave her a flat stare before reaching over to uncork another bottle of the expensive Malbec.

"Would it help if I accidentally broke an x-wing or something so that you could spend all night fixing it?"

"You should have asked that two bottles ago," Vader declared almost cheerfully while pouring himself another glass. "As it is, I happen to be finding recreation the same way most of the other soldiers do, so if you're worried about this habit of people drinking themselves blind, go talk to them." He would have to be a smug, eloquent drunk, wouldn't he? "I just happen to be doing so in solitude."

A long sigh rolled out of her. It was obvious she wasn't going to be winning this argument. "Right. Well, you've bullied me into what you wanted," she said snidely. "As of day-after-next, you're on regular duty. And depending on how severe your hangover is, I might just be calling for you at oh-eighthundred for regular rounds." It was petty anger, but it was petty anger that was born out of worry. After all, Luke would be furious - no, not furious, that wasn't in his nature. Luke would be horribly disappointed (which was even worse!) if he came back to find she had let Vader become a depressed drunk.

"Understood, Princess." He waved a hand. "Now, as I'm still on leave, get out of my quarters and stop reminding me of myself." The last half of the sentence lapsed into a slightly slurred growl as he took another long gulp of the wine. Leia huffed. However, Vader was right. He knew that sense of worry lurking behind her anger. It had gotten him to exactly where he was now.

"Fine. I'll go. But -" She quickly leaned over, snatching up one of the bottles. "I'm taking this with me."

"Resorting to petty theft, Princess? Or since you're part of the Rebellion, are you just liberating it from Imperial clutches?"

"I'm taking it because there's no way drinking the entire case will be good for you, and I'd carry more out if I could," she snapped before sighing and shaking her head. There was no adequately witty comeback so she just marched out the door, muttering vexed curses to herself as she tried to figure out what to do if this became a reoccurring problem.

Vader, meanwhile, simply drained his glass and let his head fall back to rest against the top of the seat.

He'd tried this once before. Palpatine had then made it very clear that a Sith Apprentice needed to be prepared for anything, at any time. It hadn't even worked, anyway. He'd heard that one could drink away problems but so far thoughts of Padme clung to him. If anything they were more clear than they had been before. Perhaps, then, this was another form of self-punishment. Perhaps he'd spend tomorrow in bleary-eyed agony and absolutely deserve it. That would satisfy part of his guilty conscience for a brief time…

By a few more glasses, he was dimly aware of a presence, of something hovering just by his left elbow. Finally, it spoke - Obi-Wan's voice ringing through his ears. "Anakin… please."

Vader didn't turn to face him, expression hardening.

"We both know you don't have the temperament for a drunk," Obi-Wan chided softly, tone almost as if he was trying to joke.

Vader gave a small grunt of acknowledgement before replying properly, his tone bitter and sardonic. "Are you sure, Master?" The last word was sneered in sarcasm. "What was that expression of Yoda's you were so fond of… 'do or do not, there is no try'?" He considered draining his glass before finally picking up the bottle and facing down Obi-Wan as he took a long gulp from it.

The Force Ghost did seem to be slightly rattled, and he gently sighed. "You know it's not your destiny to spend your days moping in a stupor, Anakin."

"Then what is it?" He stumbled to his feet, swaying a little, sneering as he opened his arms wide. "Go on, Master. Enlighten me!" Vader mocked, words slightly slurred.

"You were meant to bring balance to the Force," Obi-Wan admitted quietly. "Not plunge it into darkness -"

"And what if I have?" He stumbled as he roared, gritting his teeth. "Perhaps I ended the tyranny of the Light. Has that occurred to you, oh most wise Master? Perhaps I'm here to finally displace the pack of so-called noble liars who wouldn't even grant me the mercy of a swift death!"

By the time he turned again to stare down Obi-Wan, he was shouting only at empty air. And then there wasn't a point to keep it up without an audience. He quietly slumped into the chair and held his head in his hands as the world spun around him.

For all the anger and spite, he was still just as alone as he had always been.

Perhaps he had finally hit the point where the drink tempered his anger down into smoldering ashes and quiet. All he truly knew was that it was pointless to refill his glass again. He left it on the table and listened to his head pound. It would be morning soon. Leia would likely go through with her threat to place him on some emergency duty. He would spend all of tomorrow in pain, and deserve every moment of it. But it was still a good idea to try and get some sleep.

His bed was inhospitable as always. It was only his muddled and drunken thoughts that gave him the idea to try and make it less so. The small holorecorder nearly slipped out of his hand before he placed it on the bed next to his pillow, and queued up its one message. His one prize from Bast Castle.

"…removed the need for large-scale Veteran's hospitals, the Republic still has a duty to support its citizens in times of war." Padme's voice, firm and sensible, accompanied a slightly blurry picture of her in the Senate. "A point-five tax increase on luxury goods would easily cover the proposed budget…"

Vader closed his eyes and let her words sweep over him. It didn't help. It only made the heartache far more intense in his mercurial soul. But he also didn't turn it off.

The next morning, the remaining bottles of wine were perched just outside Leia's quarters. A gift. Not of goodwill, but of defeat.


End file.
